


Teenagers

by FredAndGinger, SpinalBaby



Series: Danger Days [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Also Fantine is badass, Bombs, Cosette is always a badass, Delirious Rambling, Drama, Eponine is protective of Gavroche, F/M, Fighting, Illnesses, In Jehan's story, Joly gets called a golden marshmallow, M/M, Marius does things, Multi, Romance, Scaling Walls, There's one non-con scene, Valjean is always a cinnamon roll, and dies, it's all pretty intense, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:51:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 69,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredAndGinger/pseuds/FredAndGinger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinalBaby/pseuds/SpinalBaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the Amis were keeping the wastelands safe (and making it a little unsafe), they had their own lives. This is the story of how they grew up, how they met, and how they ended up in the desert. </p><p>Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac lived in the city, finding fault with the government's practices and plotting their escape. Bahorel and Feuilly had resigned themselves to lonely, tedious existences, working until they die. Joly and Bossuet were unsure how they were going to get through high school, let alone through the rest of their lives in the city. Muichetta lived with her mom in the wastelands, helping rebels-the precursors to the Amis. Jehan and Eponine also lived in the desert, though they were working for less than noble causes. Cosette led a quiet existence with her adoptive father and Marius... well. He's Marius. </p><p>This is the prequel to the Danger Days fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disenchanted

**Author's Note:**

> **Art**  
> [You Don't Control Me!](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/145485182199/ah-teenagers-was-a-delight-to-write-so-here) by SpinalBaby  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated (T).
> 
> This chapter is the story of Enjolras and Combeferre...
> 
> _“I just didn’t want you to yell.” Enjolras explained. “Do you like the hiding place?”_
> 
> _Combeferre looked around. The broom closet was cramped, barely room for them to stand apart. Upon further inspection, he saw Courfeyrac waving wildly from a shelf, sitting among chemicals._

Teenagers were inherently resistant to the drugs. This was a fact that Enjolras knew. Facts were indisputable and meant to create a greater understanding of something, and yet to him this fact only confused him more. During adolescence the drugs didn’t work as well, but prior to adolescence they had a nearly perfect rate of success. They made one feel content, or happy. Happy with their existence and the fact that every aspect of their life was under complete control. 

For Enjolras though, he never quite felt that way. At least not 100%. When he turned 14 things took a turn for the worse. Enjolras craved something. He felt incomplete without it and yet he wasn’t sure what it was. Later he would find out that this coveted feeling was that of love and that was because of his ever distant parents. 

His parents were elites in New Paris, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have their own work and roles to fulfill. They were always busy with it, which left Enjolras to his own devices very often. He tried his hardest to make them proud of him by excelling in school, but they only showed him momentary displays of emotion- hugs, pats on the back, etc. It wasn’t enough. That’s why when he met his two best friends, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, in elementary school the three instantly became inseparable.

Combeferre, on the other hand, had a perfectly fine childhood. He was content the whole way through, having a blast with his friends. Sure, Enjolras was always a little less happy with the general world, and Courfeyrac seemed a little too happy at times, but they were nice and they were Combeferre’s. 

When he turned 14, though, he realized what Enjolras meant whenever he talked about his feelings. He knew the reason, of course. He _had_ listened to the teachers during the hour long lecture about their changing bodies. He knew that he needed a higher dose of the medication, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it. He didn’t want it, he _liked_ having emotions. 

He figured his parents knew. They must have known, but he never really thought about it. They always pushed him to do the best, always pushed him to get the best grades, and when he snapped at them a little they didn’t seem to notice. He wondered later if maybe they didn’t take the meds, maybe they resented the system as well in their own way. 

Regardless, he knew they loved him. Which was more than he could say for Enjolras’s parents, who seemed indifferent to everything. 

…

In Freshman year, the three of them were put together in the elite school. Combeferre had privately been worried that either Enjolras or Courfeyrac wouldn’t make it. Not that he thought his friends were dumb, he just knew that they had not studied nearly as hard as he had. 

Sophomore year rolled around and Combeferre was sure everything would be normal. At the end of the first week he was headed to the cafeteria to get lunch with Courfeyrac and Enjolras, when suddenly he was pulled into a tiny broom closet. 

He would have yelled or at least made a noise of protest, but there was a hand over his mouth. When the door was closed, whoever it was pulled their hands away from his face. 

“What?” He asked, looking down. It was Enjolras. “What?” 

“I just didn’t want you to yell.” Enjolras explained. “Do you like the hiding place?” 

Combeferre looked around. The broom closet was cramped, barely room for them to stand apart. Upon further inspection, he saw Courfeyrac waving wildly from a shelf, sitting among chemicals. 

“Hey!” His friend said cheerfully, “Enjolras and I found this place, it’s the only spot in the whole school without cameras!” 

He looked to Enjolras, who nodded just as enthusiastically. 

“Why do we need to be in a closet without cameras?” Combeferre asked. Enjolras’s excitement diminished a little, he looked nervous. 

“Combeferre’s trustworthy.” Courfeyrac chimed in from the shelf. Combeferre frowned. This made him think that they’d had a discussion about how he _wasn’t_ trustworthy. 

“Yeah, I’m trustworthy.” He said.

“Okay, so don’t tell anyone, but we haven’t been taking all of our medication. We don’t really agree with everything that the authority is doing and we just… we want to talk about it somewhere safe.” Enjolras said, looking more at the ground than at Combeferre. He looked up at his friend imploringly, “You don’t agree too, right? You think everything going on is kind of messed up?” 

Combeferre reflected. He knew that it was all messed up. He knew that they were forcing kids his age into factories, he knew that there was something off about the facility where the prisoners were sent, and he knew that the way that they doped up people in the South Sectors was wrong. And above this, he knew that he liked his emotions. They confused him, sure, but he liked them. 

“Enjolras.” He said, “This is a very serious proposition, and it can get you into a lot of trouble.” 

Enjolras seemed torn. Combeferre knew that now he could pretend to laugh it off or stick to his convictions. 

“Yeah.” The blond said at last, “I know.” 

Combeferre looked to Courfeyrac, whose perpetual smile had fallen from his face, a nervous look in his eyes. Combeferre grinned and ruffled Enjolras’s hair. 

“I’m just messing with you. I haven’t been taking my whole dose for like a year.” He admitted. Enjolras let out a breath of relief and Courfeyrac laughed a little. “Do you guys really think I’d have agreed with all this nonsense? I’m kind of offended.” 

“Thank goodness!” Enjolras smiled, hugging his friend briefly. Hugs longer than four seconds were against the rules in school, and he unconsciously followed what was drilled into his head. “You worried me for a minute there.” 

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac said from the shelf, “Same here.” 

“By the way, why are you on a shelf?” 

…

From then on, every week on an alternating day they’d have a little meeting in the closet and talk about the injustices of the city. Things went on this way for a year. When they entered Junior year they were set on different tracks of study. Courfeyrac was set for mechanical engineering, Combeferre was on his way to be a chemist, and Enjolras was going to be a leader in business management. 

Enjolras headed for the closet one day. He was running a little late, but it was fine. He’d just been staying late to talk to a teacher.

When he got there he expected Combeferre and Courfeyrac to be talking, but they weren’t. It was actually kind of awkward, Combeferre looked concerned and Courfeyrac was sitting uncomfortably on his shelf, swinging his legs a little. 

“What’s going on, guys?” Enjolras asked, looking at them. Combeferre shrugged helplessly. 

“I, uh… I have something I need to tell you guys.” Courfeyrac said. He sounded serious, which was kind of odd. Not unheard of, but Courfeyrac generally tried really hard to lighten the mood. 

“What is it?” Combeferre asked, not unkindly. 

“Um… I kind of want you to know that, um…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I am a homosexual.” 

There was a beat of silence. Courfeyrac swallowed loudly.

“It’s, um. It’s cool if you guys don’t want to be friends with me or something, I’ll just um… show myself out.” Courfeyrac said, hopping off the shelf. He stumbled a little and Combeferre grabbed his arm to stabilize him instinctively. Courfeyrac looked up at him with wide eyes, wary and hopeful.

“Don’t be stupid.” Combeferre said. “Of course we want to be your friend.”

“Yeah.” Enjolras added, “Do you think we’d be upset over something like that?” 

“Kind of?” Courfeyrac said, smiling a little. 

“No, we were just a little shocked.” Enjolras explained, “I’ve never met a homosexual before.” 

“...Yeah me either.” Combeferre said, despite his own tendencies to gaze at men more often than women. He’d been keeping that under wraps so far, and he had no intention of disclosing that to anyone. 

“So I’m you’re first homosexual experience?” Courfeyrac joked. 

Combeferre coughed a little, “I don’t think that’s how you use that word.” 

They all laughed a little, but it died down. 

“So how did you know?” Enjolras asked, curious. “That you were homosexual?” 

Courfeyrac seemed to think a moment. “I just… when I look at guys it’s the same way people look at girls on TV, you know? And it’s weird because sometimes I feel like I like girls, but I’ve thought about this for a long time and I know that I really like guys.”

“Huh.” Enjolras said, contemplatively. 

…

That weekend they were supposed to all hang out together, but Enjolras bailed on them. 

“I have a test to study for.” He said as an excuse over the phone.

“You didn’t tell me you had a test.” Courfeyrac said. 

“You don’t study.” Combeferre said. 

“Whatever.” Enjolras said, and he hung up the phone.

Combeferre sighed and tossed his phone on the bed. Courfeyrac was laying on his floor dramatically. Combeferre was honestly kind of upset that Enjolras bailed on them, they never got to hang out at a house, they usually had to go to the ping pong place. 

“Enjolras hates me.” Courfeyrac sighed. Combeferre looked at the ceiling, asking it for strength. 

“Enjolras does not hate you.” He sighed. 

He felt as though they had all gained a lot more emotion over the last year, since admitting that they were on low dosages of the medication. It made sense, they were growing. And it was freeing to be able to actually express feelings with other likeminded people.

“Yeah, he’s avoiding us because I’m a homosexual.” Courfeyrac said, covering his face with his hands, muffling the sound. 

Combeferre personally hated the term for men who loved other men, but there was honestly no other word he knew of to replace it. 

“He’s not avoiding you because you’re homosexual.” 

Courfeyrac sighed. Combeferre sighed. 

“Hey Combeferre?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not sure that I am homosexual.” Courfeyrac admitted. 

Combeferre leaned over to look at him, “What?” 

“I mean,” Courfeyrac fiddled with a necklace, something he wasn’t supposed to be wearing, actually. Combeferre figured he borrowed it from his mom. “I mean I’m pretty sure I like guys, but I like girls and… this is confusing, okay?” 

“Yeah.” Combeferre said, “Is there any way to figure it out?” 

“I mean, I guess if I kissed a guy or kissed a girl I’d be able to tell, I mean people seem really into it in the movies, you know? But that’s not possible.” Courfeyrac lamented. 

“How do you know it’s not possible?”

Courfeyrac looked at him, “I mean, maybe the total lack of homosexual people may have tipped me off.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, “Let me just ask everyone to volunteer to kiss me.” 

“I mean I’d kiss you.” Combeferre offered. 

Courfeyrac sat straight up. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I mean, to help you figure this out.” 

“You’d do that for me?” Courfeyrac sounded touched. “Really? You’re not even homosexual.” 

“Anything for a friend.” Combeferre said, neither confirming nor denying what his friend said. 

“Okay, so we gotta do this like the movies.” Courfeyrac said, standing up. He pulled up Combeferre and pushed him around by the shoulders to position him correctly. “Okay, now you have to lean down and kiss me.” 

“Alright.” Combeferre said, leaning down to kiss him. 

“Wait!” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre pulled back. “I’m nervous. What if I’m not homosexual?” 

“I mean, this is to find out.” Combeferre reasoned. 

“I know, I just… I told you guys, and if I went back it’d be weird…” Courfeyrac was still talking, but Combeferre just rolled his eyes and leaned forward quickly, cupping his face and cutting his friend’s words off with his mouth. 

Courfeyrac froze under his hand, but seemed to melt a little into the kiss. He threw his arms around the taller boy’s neck and kissed back with enthusiasm, smashing his lips against Combeferre’s. They continued like that for a few moments, then Courfeyrac’s hold loosened and they drew apart. 

“Wow.” Courfeyrac said, taking a deep breath, “Yeah, I definitely like boys.” 

“Yeah.” Combeferre said in agreement. So did he. 

…

Meanwhile, Enjolras had holed himself up in his room. He was researching everything he could about homosexuality. It was mostly statistics about the facility, but there was one interesting factoid. The words “homosexual” and “homosexuality” used to be replaced by the word “gay”. Enjolras figured they could use that word so that they didn’t get caught talking about homosexuals by any authority figure or their peers. 

Other than that, he was trying to figure out his own sexuality. He’d never put much thought into it before, he kind of avoided the topic in his mind. But now Courfeyrac had brought it up and he couldn’t put it off any longer, he had to figure this out. 

He’d never thought of himself as homosexual, but then again he never liked girls either. He was indifferent to the bland movie stars on TV that people were supposed to swoon over, with their tasteful cleavage and daring high heels. None of that appealed to him. 

The men didn’t really either, but when he dreamt at night, men were more often the stars of his more lurid dreams. It actually seemed that his friends, as well as some more attractive members of his class, were the main attraction, rather than people on TV. He figured that was reasonable. He was attracted to people, not weird smiling faces. 

After some more contemplation and research, he decided that he was gay too. He thought he’d tell his friends at the next meeting, but… 

Courfeyrac seemed to think about his predicament for much longer. Enjolras wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions, he’d let himself think this over, and later he’d tell his friends. Besides, while he trusted his friends he did not trust his parents. Courfeyrac’s parents may be willing to overlook just about anything, but if his parents got wind of this (if they paid attention) he’d be in the facility for sure. 

That night at dinner, it was the regular affair of his parents talking business and not speaking to him. This time he just picked at his food without trying to gain attention, deep in thought. 

“So, are you going to be picking your classes soon, son?” His father asked, shaking him out of his thoughts. 

Enjolras scoffed internally. First time his parents showed an interest in months and it was over a topic that was four months old. 

“I already picked them, father. I’m going to be learning about business management. I told you in September.” He said, trying to keep the spite from his voice. 

His parents seemed preoccupied once more, as their phones went off. 

“That’s good, dear.” His mother said absently. 

Enjolras thought about telling them he was gay, just to see if they’d react to it. He decided against it. He picked at his food, this was going to be a long night. 

… 

Courfeyrac called a secret meeting for just him and Combeferre in the broom closet for that Monday. The actual meeting wasn’t until Tuesday, so Combeferre didn’t see why his friend couldn’t wait, but it didn’t really matter. 

“Combeferre.” Courfeyrac said urgently once Combeferre was inside the closet. Combeferre was kind of worried Enjolras would be concerned that they weren’t at lunch. “Combeferre I’ve got to tell you something.” 

“Yeah?” Combeferre asked. He was a little absent minded, thinking about what they were going to tell their blond friend. 

“Combeferre I think I’m in love with you?”

Courfeyrac now had his full attention. He blinked in surprise. “You do?” 

“I mean, is that weird? It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about the kiss.” Courfeyrac was looking at his hands, “I mean, I thought I’d tell you. You know, so you know I have feelings for you. It must be weird, you know. Since you’re heterosexual and all.” 

“I’m not.” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac looked up at him. “Heterosexual. I’m not.” 

“You’re not?” 

“No.”

“How long have you known?” 

Combeferre thought about it, “I don’t know. A long time.” 

“And you never told us?” Courfeyrac sounded mildly offended. 

“No, I didn’t think anyone would really care. And I was kind of afraid of what Enjolras would think.” Combeferre reasoned. 

“You weren’t afraid of what I was going to think?” Courfeyrac still sounded offended. 

“Not really. I mean, I can always tell that you’re going to be fine with things like this, you’re a lot more predictable than Enjolras.” He said. When Courfeyrac continued to look offended he added “In a good way.” 

“Well, since you also aren’t heterosexual, do you want to… date? Or something?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“I mean, do you really want to date?” Combeferre asked. He frowned a little, he’d never thought about dating Courfeyrac, but he supposed it wasn’t the worst idea. 

“What do you mean?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I mean, are you sure you really like me? Or is this just platonic love?” Combeferre didn’t want to jump into anything just for Courfeyrac to not actually have feelings for him. 

“I’m… I’m not sure.” Courfeyrac admitted. 

“Well, we can both figure out how we feel about each other and reconvene in a week to talk about it?” Combeferre suggested. 

Courfeyrac nodded and stuck out his hand for Combeferre to shake. 

“It’s a deal.” 

…

The next day, the meeting went without event. Enjolras decided not to tell his friends about his recent self-discovery, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac kept their secret meeting to themselves. Enjolras did tell them about the word “gay” though, and Courfeyrac seemed delighted. 

A week went by, and soon Combeferre and Courfeyrac were in the broom closet again. (Last time Combeferre had told Enjolras he was waiting to explain a math thing to Courfeyrac, and this time he preemptively made up a similar story for the blond.)

“Okay, I think I don’t love you.” Courfeyrac said, as soon as Combeferre had closed the door to the closet. 

Combeferre’s heart sank a little. He hadn’t been able to figure out his feelings exactly over the week, but he’d kind of wanted to try. He smiled at Courfeyrac anyways. 

“That’s fine, me too.” 

“I think I just wanted physical affection or something.” Courfeyrac added, “I read somewhere that it was necessary for people to be happy, but the contentment medication is supposed to supply for that, but we aren’t taking that so… yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We’re still friends, right?” 

“Of course.” Combeferre said, ruffling the shorter boy’s hair, “Don’t worry so much.” 

“Not possible.” Courfeyrac said, “I will never stop.” 

Combeferre laughed.

…

The next week when Courfeyrac got back his math test, with 100 percent correct (he was actually really good at it) Enjolras congratulated him. After all, he and Combeferre had had to work on it a couple of times alone together. And even though Enjolras knew he could be kind of distant sometimes, he liked to take interest in his friends’ lives. 

Courfeyrac seemed happy, but kind of confused. 

…

One weekend, when their Junior year was coming to a close, Enjolras and Courfeyrac ended up heading to the ping pong place. 

“Why are we here? I hate it here.” Enjolras complained, as was customary. 

“Shh,” Courfeyrac hushed, “You’ll have fun!” 

“Lies.” Enjolras huffed. 

They were almost there, the neon sign and fountain in view. Courfeyrac ran off to talk to some people he knew from his class, promising Enjolras he’d be back in a moment. Enjolras continued towards the building, going to get them a table far away from the jerks who took ping pong _way_ too seriously.

“NO! YOU DON’T CONTROL ME!” 

Enjolras looked over to the fountain, where a kid seemed to be arguing with an older man. The kid looked familiar, maybe he went to their school? 

Regardless, he stripped off his shirt and tried valiantly to take off his pants as well, but they just ended up around his ankles. He gave up the effort taking them off, seeing that some Operatives were headed over, and dove flailing into the fountain. 

As the kid splashed around, Enjolras looked up and saw another scruffy kid staring at the scene, eyes wide. He was carrying a duffle bag. He looked over and their eyes met for a moment. The kid hunched his shoulders, as if trying to make his bag less suspicious, and-with a cautious glance at the Operatives-wandered away. 

The Operatives were too busy to notice. They wrestled the teen out of the fountain and put him in handcuffs, something Enjolras wasn’t sure he’d ever seen in person before. They escorted him away, despite the older man’s protests that “it was quite alright” and that the man was high up in the company and could deal with his son. 

“Courfeyrac.” Enjolras said, reaching out and grabbing who he thought was his friend. It wasn’t. He remembered Courfeyrac had gone to talk to other people. “Sorry,” He said, not looking at the kid, “It was the hair.” 

The kid said something back, but Enjolras was too busy making his way over to his friend. 

“Courfeyrac.” He said again. 

“I know.” Courfeyrac said, looking absolutely gleeful. 

“Courfeyrac, what happened?” 

“I don’t know, I just don’t know.” Courfeyrac said, still basking in the glow of the incident. “But it was great.” 

…

Courfeyrac called Combeferre as soon as they were inside the ping pong place and told him the story in vivid, slightly exaggerated, detail. Apparently he knew the kid, though. They had a few classes together. 

By the following Monday Courfeyrac was telling everyone that the kid had gone off his medicine and got dragged to the facility. 

“But is that what happened?” Enjolras asked. 

“I mean, that’s what everyone is saying.” Courfeyrac responded. 

“They’re just saying that because that’s what you are telling everyone.” Combeferre said. 

Courfeyrac shrugged. 

…

The summer after Junior year was eventful for both Enjolras and Combeferre, though for different reasons. Combeferre had an internship with the facility, a foot in the door of Tomorrow Comes big leagues. And Enjolras, well, he had R. 

Combeferre honestly loved being an intern at the facility. At first he had been kind of cautious, he never knew what the facility was going to be like, what the inmates were going to be like. It turned out that they were kind of lifeless, but not at all worrying. It was actually kind of calming to be surrounded by the zombie-like people, in a weird way. Peaceful. 

He had a weird relationship with Dr. Cubac though. The man seemed nice enough, though whenever Combeferre saw him interact with prisoners he seemed almost… taunting? But that couldn’t be. He was so nice to Combeferre, so helpful and patient. Even if his voice sounded a little off, he was a good man and a great doctor. Or so Combeferre tried to tell himself. 

…

“R?” Enjolras called out as he came into their hiding place. 

“Hey Apollo.” R said with a smile. Enjolras smiled back. He supposed that one day they should probably tell each other their real names, but he’d never had a nickname before and it was nice. He liked the way it sounded out of R’s mouth. 

“I got your message.” Enjolras said. There’d been a painting of headphones with the words “You stop the noise” written above it. And, of course, it was signed with a flourishing R. Enjolras thought it was cute. 

“Yeah, I just missed you.” R said, pulling him into a hug. Enjolras wrapped his arms around the other boy, holding him close. 

“I missed you too.” He mumbled into his shoulder. “I’m such a sap.” 

“You are.” R agreed. “But you’re my sap.”

Enjolras laughed at how cheesy his boyfriend was. He supposed that was what he got for dating an artist. He pulled away after a few more moments, though he didn’t really want to. 

…

By the end of the summer Dr. Cubac was entrusting Combeferre with more responsibilities, leaving papers and formulas and things for him to do while the doctor visited patients. Combeferre enjoyed it, even if it seemed to be grunt work. 

“Dr. Cubac, I had a question.” Combeferre said one day, when the doctor was coming through the office. 

“Yes, of course Combeferre, what is it?” Dr. Cubac asked patiently. 

“Why exactly are we making a more powerful contentment drug?” He asked, glancing down at one of the papers he’d read over. 

“Oh, one of the new patients is having trouble with the current medication. He has a resistance to it.” The doctor said easily. 

“Oh.” Combeferre said, glancing back at the paper. He thought a moment. “Are you sure it’s a bodily resistance?” 

“What do you mean?” The doctor asked. 

“Well, it might not necessarily be his body resisting it, but his mind.” Combeferre explained, “And I was reading some other files the other day, and there was that one patient that needed some memory adjustment in order for the medication to work.” 

“Huh.” Dr. Cubac said. “I’ll take that into consideration. For now, we’ll stick to the more traditional path.” 

“Yes doctor.” Combeferre agreed, straightening the papers. 

“Thank you for the suggestion though, I do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.” The doctor said, and left the room. 

…

Enjolras went to the hiding place as soon as he saw the mural on the back of the Ping Pong Palace. 

“R?” He asked the empty space, looking around frantically, as though there was some way his boyfriend could be hiding in such a small space. “R, where are you?” 

There was no response, there was no one there. 

Enjolras let out a short breath. He would just wait here until R came. Yeah, that’s a good plan, just wait a while. He was bound to show up, Enjolras knew he was going to show up. 

He sat, staring up at the painting of Apollo, and waited.

But R never came. 

…

Senior year of high school started and Enjolras threw himself into plans for escape. Combeferre had always known that that was Enjolras’s endgame, that Enjolras would never survive in the city without serious reconditioning, but after the internship at the facility… he wasn’t exactly sure. Sure, he knew it was wrong, but was it really _so_ wrong? 

He shook the thoughts from his head. Enjolras would never be convinced to stay in the city and Courfeyrac would never make it in the adult world. And how would he ever survive without his two best friends? 

They’d all gotten part time jobs in an attempt to get money to spend on supplies. They knew there were stores in the wastelands, but they honestly didn’t know much about them or how to get shelter or anything. Courfeyrac had already started modifying his car so that it would go past the highest speed limit in the city (and added a toaster?). 

Combeferre was still interning at the facility. It was the best part time job he could get, and Dr. Cubac was flexible with his school schedule. While he still mainly got grunt work, some odd things came across his desk. Hallucinogens and things that sounded slightly torturous. Combeferre didn’t question it, maybe the doctor was developing a new theory? Something apart from his work at the facility. New research was often required of the doctors, and Combeferre supposed that these weird medications were not something anyone else had really looked into, leaving them open for Dr. Cubac to patent. 

…

Every week, Enjolras would sit in the hiding place on Saturday. It messed with his work schedule, which ate into their budget, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up hope that R would be there one day, smiling at him and saying “Sorry I was late, Apollo.” 

Other than that, he started slacking on his school work. It all got turned in, but he no longer strived for good grades, they weren’t going to matter and it wasn’t like he’d get any repercussions at home. His only fear was that someone would notice if he was suddenly failing and up his dose of medication, but other than that he couldn’t care less. 

Although Enjolras told his friends not to alert their parents about what was going on (of course), he actually tried to drop a couple hints to his parents. He didn’t exactly know why, probably a residual hope that they’d figure it out and pay some kind of attention to him. A useless hope, as they didn’t seem to care. 

… 

Senior year drew to a close. Their test scores were put up for all the world to see, and despite the stress and job, Combeferre had emerged at the top of his class. His parents were so proud. Combeferre wished he could freeze time for a bit, and live in that moment, everything he had worked for was finally paid off. He thought of it as a parting gift to them, he finally met their expectations. 

Graduation wasn’t a memorable affair. They offered Combeferre the opportunity to speak, but he declined. It was kind of weird, the valedictorian generally spoke just to get his or her name out there for future jobs, but Combeferre figured he didn’t really have to worry about that, as long as everything went according to Enjolras’s plan. Besides, he didn’t really like speaking in front of people anyways. 

He’d given Dr. Cubac some notice that he’d be gone. He didn’t want to leave the man hanging, after all. He made something up about wanting to relax over the summer before starting work. The man had laughed and told him he deserved the rest. 

“Remember, you can always come back here.” The man had said, “You’d do well at the facility, you have the right way of thinking.” 

Combeferre noticed that Enjolras’s parents never showed up to the graduation ceremony. He and Courfeyrac took their friend out to eat, instead of spending the time with their own parents, something he knew they both wanted to do, as their days with them were numbered. Enjolras seemed to appreciate it. 

…

Enjolras waited, that first day of summer. He sat in the hiding place from six in the morning until one o'clock the next. His friends were ready to go, and he knew they were confused on the wait, but he needed to wait, he promised he would. R promised he’d be there. 

The second day, Enjolras brought something to do. The day before had been long and boring, staring at the renditions of himself and R. 

The third day he knew his friends were getting concerned. 

The fourth day he was concerned. 

The fifth day, he nearly called off the whole thing, hoping that some kind of karma would grant him R if he promised to stay in the city. 

The sixth day, even his parents seemed to notice something was up, when he came home at a strange hour. They didn’t ask much, though, they were too preoccupied. 

The seventh day, Enjolras lost it. The faces on the wall seemed to be taunting him and he was angry, so angry. At the city, for everything, at R for abandoning him, and at himself for getting his hopes up and waiting for so long. 

He smashed the faces of the painting. And the next day they left. 

…

Their plan was to follow one of the trucks shipping goods out into the desert. That was the only way they could think of to get themselves, their supplies, and Courfeyrac’s car out of the city. 

Everything was going really well, and they were (somewhat) sneakily waiting in their car to follow a truck, when someone approached the car. He was a huge man, and it was slightly terrifying. He rapped on the window with a mini stop sign he was holding. Courfeyrac rolled it down.

“Hey.” The man said, “So, what are you doing?” 

“We’re authorized to leave the city with this shipment.” Enjolras said. Combeferre was impressed with the confident way Enjolras said it. If Combeferre didn’t know it was a lie, he’d be half convinced himself. 

“Uh huh, uh huh.” The man said, nodding, looking over the car. “So you’re running off to the wastelands, huh?” 

Combeferre’s heart dropped. This man was going to turn them in and they were all going to be sent to the facility and Dr. Cubac was going to be _so_ disappointed. 

“Uh…” Courfeyrac said from the front seat. He was saved from answering by another man outside of the car. 

“Hey, what is this car doing here?” The man was yelling, “This is not a residential area!” 

“It’s fine.” The burly man said, “They’re authorized to leave the city.” He shot a wink at the three in the car. 

“Really?” The other man asked, sounding unconvinced. 

“Really.” The huge man said. The other man sighed, sounding very tired. 

“Whatever. If they turn out to be fucking rebels or something I’ll just get shipped off to the facility, no big deal.” The man said, “I need a break anyways.” He walked a bit away to go check on the trucks. 

“You’re cleared, just follow the truck and you’re good to go.” The big man said. He was gone before they could thank him. 

“That was ridiculously easy.” Combeferre commented as they rolled out of the city. They couldn’t see much ahead with the truck in front of them, but the vast expanse of emptiness to their sides was kind of unsettling. Combeferre didn’t realize how much stuff there really was in the city until that moment. 

They had barely gotten through the hole in the wall, when sirens were going off and the giant man from before was running after the car, waving the stop sign. 

“WAIT!” He was yelling. 

“Why are you stopping the car?” Enjolras demanded as Courfeyrac stopped the car. 

“He has a stop sign!” Courfeyrac defended. 

Behind the man, there were two Operatives. They were probably the gate guards. Courfeyrac unlocked the car doors. 

The huge man wrenched open the back door and climbed in beside Combeferre. 

“Drive!” He said urgently. Courfeyrac stepped on the gas, weaving around the truck. 

They sped down the empty expanse of road for a while, making a couple random turns to shake anyone off their tails while the man evened out his breathing. 

“I never properly introduced myself.” He said, seeming to realize, “I’m Bahorel.” 

“Combeferre.” Combeferre said, sticking out his hand out of habit. Bahorel laughed a little, but shook it. 

“I’m Enjolras.” Enjolras said. 

“I’m Courfeyrac!” Courfeyrac said from the driver’s seat. “That was pretty cool of you back there!” 

“It was nothing.” Bahorel said with a shrug, “I wanted to get away for a while now.”

…

That night they set up camp and got to know Bahorel better. He was a useful asset to their little group, he’d been in the desert a few times, learning to drive the huge trucks. He was also a nice guy, friendly and funny. 

They camped out and Bahorel told them about the injustices of the factories and the South Sectors, which just assured Enjolras that this was, in fact, the right thing to do. Bahorel added in that he had a tendency to like guys more than girls and how-though it’s bad for homosexuals in the North Sectors-it’s worse for them in in the South. If you’re still showing homosexual tendencies, you’ll be sent to the facility and kept there, because if you’re in the South Sectors you already have way more medication, so there’s no “upping the dosage” and keeping you as a functioning member of society. 

It was late when that conversation ended, and everyone was tired by the day’s events. They decided that it was about time to go to bed. 

“Yeah, we should probably get some sleep.” Combeferre said, “Maybe we should sleep in the car?” 

It was pretty cold out. They hadn’t really accounted for the cold, sure they had blankets, but it was seriously freezing. Everyone agreed to sleep in the car. Enjolras got the driver’s seat, as he was short enough that the steering wheel didn’t bother him too much, Combeferre was taller than everyone, and needed the front passenger seat so he could move his legs, which meant that Bahorel and Courfeyrac were left shoved in the smaller back seats together. 

“Goodnight darlings.” Courfeyrac said sleepily. Combeferre and Enjolras exchanged a look. What was that about? Combeferre shrugged at Enjolras, as if to signify that he had no idea either, and they went to sleep. 

…

Three days later, they were hanging out, sitting around the car on the northern side of the city and trying to plan what they should do with themselves. The withdrawal symptoms for the medication were starting to kick in and they wanted to be somewhere with a roof and running water. They were discussing that when they saw someone walking towards them on the horizon. 

It took a while for the figure to get close, but when he was in view Bahorel let out a short laugh. 

“I’ll be damned.” He said, grinning, before walking off to go meet whoever it was. They had a short conversation out of earshot, before coming closer to the group. 

“Who do you think that is?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“No idea.” Enjolras said, and Combeferre shrugged helplessly. 

“Guys, this is my supervisor from the factory!” Bahorel said, his arm slung across the other man’s shoulders, “He decided to join us!” 

Combeferre suddenly recognized him as the man who had almost tried to stop them when they were driving out of New Paris. 

“Awesome!” Enjolras said, grinning. “Always good to have new people. What’s your name?” 

“His name is…” Bahorel looked the man up and down. “Hot ginger supervisor?” 

“It’s Feuilly.” The man said, rolling his eyes, “You should know that by now, asshole. I knew your name.” 

“Sorry man, I just didn’t care.” Bahorel said, though he didn’t really look sorry. 

Feuilly then proceeded to tell them the story of how he escaped the city, climbing over a wall with a backpack of supplies and walking north, simply because that’s the direction they had seemed to be heading. Enjolras was extremely impressed. 

… 

After that, more people started to join them. They’d found a house in the residential area to live in while they waited out their withdrawals, but with all the new arrivals they’d needed a bigger place. For the first month or so they looked around, searching for a new place and new friends, until they found the abandoned hotel and took it over. It was a little too big for their group, but as people joined the rooms filled. 

Enjolras took an interest in talking to everyone who joined. He learned their names, where they were from, their stories. A good deal of them were from the South Sectors, inspired by Feuilly, but a lot were also from the North, having seen Enjolras’s picture on the news as a fugitive and remembering the mural on the back of the Ping Pong Palace. 

A few of them asked after R, and Enjolras had no answers to give them. So he lied and told them that he only knew the man in passing. They were casual friends, and one day R just up and disappeared. 

By their third month in the desert, the group had found Jean Valjean. The man, with his well of books and knowledge and patience, had given them help and a name, The Amis. Around this time, they also met Montparnasse and the Patron Minette, making an alliance with them so that neither of them ended up hurting each other. 

This alliance was put into motion by Courfeyrac, who had been the one to happen upon the Patron Minette’s secret hiding place and happen upon Jehan. And, while Courfeyrac had been getting slowly more flamboyant and coming out of his shell, Jehan seemed to boost that process. 

Enjolras kind of disapproved of Jehan at first. The kid was a prostitute and he lived with Montparnasse, who happened to be his boyfriend. It was all pretty weird. But as he started to hang out at the Amis place more and more, he grew on Enjolras. 

Then one day Courfeyrac brought an extra kid home. 

“Oh my gosh, Enjolras, you’ll never guess who I just met! It was the kid from the fountain!” 

…

Combeferre didn’t take as much time to learn about everyone like Enjolras had. He was busy writing down every single thing he remembered about chemical equations and research from his time interning at the facility. He’d brought a few of his notebooks along, but he cursed himself for not bringing textbooks. Those things didn’t seem to exist in the wastelands and it was hard to get a secure connection to the Tomorrow Comes internet to look things up online. 

Combeferre actually spent a lot of time with Jean Valjean. The man’s house was much more quiet than the hotel and, when Marius came to live with the man, he had some kind of internet so he could look at research stuff. 

About seven months had passed since they left the city and Combeferre had started to think about making himself a lab in the hotel, and he was going to ask Valjean for his opinion, when Valjean pulled him to the side to talk to him in private.

“Combeferre, I need a favor.” The man said, with some urgency. 

“Yes, of course, what is it?” Combeferre asked, concerned. Valjean never asked for favors. 

“You need to take Marius with you.” 

“What?” Combeferre was confused. 

“For your club thing.” Valjean said. Enjolras would have corrected the man, but Combeferre could tell he was at his wits end. 

“Why?” He asked, “I thought you liked Marius.”

“I do, I love him like a son. He can do all sorts of amazing things with technology and keeping my accounts balanced and it’s wonderful, but... “ The man sighed, “I can’t walk in on him making out with my daughter again, Combeferre, I really can’t.” 

“Uh…” 

“You see, I love you guys, but I can only take so much weird stuff going on at once. And between Marius and Cosette and your friend Courfeyrac asking me all these… strange questions about Jehan, I just… I need one of these things to stop happening, and I know I can only make one of them go away without hurting anyone’s feelings.” Valjean explained. 

“What is Courf-” Combeferre started, but in that instant Courfeyrac himself walked through the door. 

“Dad!” He called, “I have a question, Jehan was talking and I don’t know what-” He looked at Combeferre, “Oh hey Ferre.” 

Combeferre blinked, taking in his friend. He hadn’t really noticed, since all the changes had been slow, over the seven months, but Courfeyrac had changed a lot. Everyone had adapted to the bright colors, but no one had taken to it quite so much as Courfeyrac had, wearing as may clashing colors as he could, all at once. He’d also become more outwardly dramatic and kind of overly familiar with everyone. Combeferre reflected a moment. He liked the change, it was like Courfeyrac was becoming who he always wanted to be. 

Combeferre glanced back at Valjean, who had a look of dread in his eyes. 

“I’ll talk to Marius.” Combeferre assured him, and walked away, leaving the two alone. 

…

Marius came to live with them a week later, after a lot of insistence and flattery on Combeferre (and Courfeyrac’s) part. For the next few months, things were great and people were happy. 

Enjolras had been sending people out on missions all the time, ever since they’d had eight people in their group. They had a little more than 70 people by now, and the Amis were a force to be reckoned with. They sabotaged Tomorrow Comes stuff and helped out non-legal citizens, they gained fame and infamy. 

Combeferre told Enjolras that maybe he might want to slow down, try some stealth. Enjolras assured him that they were all better than that, they were all training and committed to this cause. Combeferre accepted it. 

Bahorel and Feuilly got together, after dancing around their inevitable relationship for a long while. It was during one of the sparring matches that the rest of the Amis seemed intent on watching (Combeferre wasn’t really all that interested in watching people fight, but to each their own) and Courfeyrac and Jehan had seemed oddly ecstatic about the whole thing. 

They got together, loudly, on the floor above Enjolras and Combeferre’s room. There were only so many beds, so they shared one, it wasn’t a big deal. 

Enjolras sighed, pushing a pillow over his face as they listened to their friends’ loud moaning. 

“Let me die.” Enjolras said, his voice muffled by the pillow. Combeferre laughed. 

“Is it really that bad? I mean, we hear shit like this every day.” He reasoned. 

“Not this loudly.” Enjolras replied, moving the pillow away from his face. He sighed, “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if I had someone too.” 

“What do you mean?” Combeferre asked. 

“I mean, I’m kind of jealous? I guess?” Enjolras said, covering his eyes, “It’s dumb.” 

“I mean, it’s a natural reaction to want someone, I guess.” Combeferre said.

“And everyone here is like, so attractive.” Enjolras commented, “Like Feuilly is super hot and that isn’t helping.” 

Combeferre looked over at him, surprised. “I didn’t know you were gay.” 

“Yeah.” Enjolras said, “I don’t think I ever mentioned it.” 

“I mean, I am too.” Combeferre said. Enjolras looked at him this time. 

“Really? Wow. All three of us were gay in the city. Weird.” Enjolras commented. There was a moment of silence. Combeferre wondered why they were talking about this now, but then he remembered that Enjolras was at the sparring match and he was probably kind of tipsy. 

“Yeah.” He said to fill the silence. 

“So we’re both gay…” Enjolras trailed off. “Do you maybe wanna…?” 

“Sure.” Combeferre agreed. 

And after that they had an arrangement. They were never dating, but they got together whenever they needed to. Which ended up being surprisingly a lot. 

…

A few months passed. Everything was going great, the Amis had seventy-five members and Enjolras was sending them on even bigger mission, better missions, things that could really change the world. 

Enjolras was talking to Combeferre in the lab one day, checking up on everything, making sure things were going well. 

“So how are the chemicals?” Enjolras asked, leaning against a relatively substance-free area of table. 

“They’re fine.” Combeferre said, taking off his protective goggles and stepping away from what he’d been working on. His voice was muffled by his face mask, but he didn’t care enough to take it off. “How’s recruiting?” 

“We haven’t gotten anyone since last month.” Enjolras said,a little disappointed. “The last people we got were those two guys and the girl Marius knew.” 

“Joly and his friends?” Combeferre asked, “I know him, he’s been showing me some medical stuff. Apparently he was going to be an EMT.” 

“Yeah, he mentioned that.” Enjolras said, and he was going to say something else, when there was the most deafening noise he’d ever heard in his life. 

The foundation of the building shook, chemicals went flying everywhere. Enjolras fell on his arm and felt a sharp pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it as the ceiling started to fall in. 

Combeferre cried out. Enjolras dragged himself to his feet to help his friend. 

“Grab the notebooks!” Combeferre shouted, waving off Enjolras. He was covering his eyes. Enjolras tried to ask him if he was alright, but all he could do was cough. 

He grabbed the closest notebooks he saw and dragged Combeferre to his feet. He wanted to asked what was wrong, Combeferre wouldn’t open his eyes, but he couldn’t get the words out. 

They ran. The lab was close to the parking garage, an easy exit. When they got outside, they collapsed on the sand, Enjolras struggling for air and Combeferre rubbing at his eyes. 

“Are you… Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, as soon as he could get enough breath to talk. 

“I’m fine.” Combeferre said, “Are you okay?” Combeferre’s eyes were bright red, but he seemed able to see Enjolras. 

“I’m fine.” Enjolras said automatically. He wasn’t sure about the state of his arm, but he barely felt it. And the fire in his lungs was slowly receding, he probably just inhaled sand or something.

They looked on as the building crumbled before their eyes. Bahorel ended up running towards them with Feuilly, and Enjolras felt a jolt in his heart as he realized that this wasn’t over, all their friends were in there. 

“No.” He said, consumed by a fit of coughing. “No, we have to get them!” 

“We can’t.” Combeferre said, “We’d die.” 

Enjolras took a moment to take that in. Combeferre was right, going in was a suicide mission. They watched in silence as their home fell. 

Bossuet, one of the newest members, came out carrying his girlfriend Musichetta. He laid her down next to Enjolras, who was sitting and coughing. 

“Watch her.” Bossuet said, starting to run back. Enjolras lurched forward and grabbed his ankle, stopping him. 

“You can’t go back!” He said, his voice too raw and desperate for it to sound like a real order. Bossuet shook him off. 

“I’m going to get Joly and you can’t fucking stop me.” He looked at Bahorel, “You need to help me get the ceiling off of him.” 

“Got it.” Bahorel said. He patted Feuilly’s head, the man was sitting with a gash in his leg. “Be back in a minute, babe.” 

They ran off towards the building. Enjolras struggled to his feet and moved forward, as if to go after them, but Combeferre stopped him. 

“But I can’t let them go in alone!” Enjolras protested. Combeferre couldn’t think of any way to dissuade him, so he just shook his head. Enjolras continued to cough in his arms until they miraculously emerged, Bahorel carrying Joly out of the building and Bossuet running ahead to clear some space for him. 

“Combeferre.” The bald man said desperately, “Combeferre, you’ve got to help him. You’re a doctor.” 

“Not really.” Combeferre protested. He hadn’t wanted Enjolras to know, but everything was rather blurry. He could make out the shapes of everyone, but other than that… “I know chemistry.”

“You took an anatomy class, you did _something_.” Bossuet said. Combeferre nodded. “Joly’s back is all fucked up and his leg is looking… really, really bad, and you’re the only person we’ve got.” 

Bahorel set Joly in front of him. The man seemed pretty conscious. Bossuet held his hand. 

“Joly, I’m going to level with you.” Combeferre said seriously, “I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m about half blind right now.” 

“It’s fine.” The man said through gritted teeth, “I’ll walk you through it. Bossuet can help. Chetta’s fine, right?” 

Combeferre nodded. He’d checked her pulse, she’d be okay as soon as she woke up. 

“That’s good.” Joly said, “Okay, so…” 

He walked Combeferre through most of what he was doing, stabilizing Joly’s back and leg. He gasped in pain and cried a little, but other than that he was doing really well. 

“Okay, after this you’re going to be doing this on your own.” Joly warned. Combeferre’s heart dropped. 

“What?” He asked frantically. He had no idea what he was doing, the only reason he was doing anything right was because Joly was walking him through it. 

“I’m going to pass out.” Joly said matter-of-factly. “Because you and Bossuet are going to set my leg.” 

Joly told him what he was supposed to do, and Combeferre nodded, listening intently. He had Bossuet brace the man’s thigh and began to line the bone up again. Joly screamed, it sounded agonizing. The sound of the bone was sickening, Combeferre had to will himself not to throw up. Joly passed out halfway through. 

While he’d been helping Joly, the rest of the building had collapsed. It looked like it was all pretty much done falling, and Bahorel had gone to try to find survivors with Enjolras. Combeferre sent Bossuet to find a piece of debris that could act as a splint. 

After Joly was taken care of, Combeferre was delivered a steady stream of people in need of care. He sighed and prayed to whoever might be listening that he didn’t mess them all up. 

…

After an hour of searching, Enjolras ran to Combeferre. 

“Do you know where Courf is?” He demanded. Combeferre’s heart dropped, he thought Courfeyrac would have told Enjolras where he was, but then Enjolras wouldn’t be asking. 

“No.” He said. Enjolras’s eyes widened and he took off back to the hotel. 

“I saw Angelica’s hand… it had her ring, it… he wasn’t in the garage so he must have been in there with... “ Enjolras spoke brokenly, looking around a little frantically. 

“Enj…” Combeferre started, but Enjolras was already on his way to look for their friend. 

“Courfeyrac!” He yelled, climbing over debris, “Courf! Where are you?” 

Combeferre wanted to follow, he almost did, but there were too many people he needed to help. 

…

Two hours later, they had found four live people in the debris. Eighteen people had initially escaped, and it seemed that no one was without injury. 

Combeferre had helped everyone as much as he could, and they were picking through debris, looking for their friend. They heard a car pull up and Enjolras nearly screamed in frustration, sure it was Operatives there to take them all in. 

It wasn’t. The car was Courfeyrac’s Baby, and Courfeyrac and Jehan came out, running up to them. Enjolras met them halfway, throwing his good arm around his friend. 

“What happened?” Courfeyrac asked, looking on in horror. Combeferre picked his way through the debris, afraid he’d fall on some object he couldn’t see. 

“I’m so happy you’re alive.” Enjolras was saying into Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “So I can KILL YOU.” 

“What?” Courfeyrac was even more concerned. 

“You didn’t tell anyone where you were.” Combeferre said. 

“We thought you were DEAD.” Enjolras yelled, the impact of his anger lost, as he was still holding onto the other man. 

Combeferre hugged them both as well, happy his friends were alive. At least, until Enjolras gasped in pain as Combeferre jostled his broken arm. 

“What?” Combeferre asked backing up and squinting at Enjolras, “Why aren’t you using your arm?” 

“It’s fine.” Enjolras said a little too quickly. Combeferre grabbed it and gently inspected it. He hissed in pain, the noise devolving into another coughing fit. 

“It’s broken!” Combeferre exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“What’s going on?” Courfeyrac asked again. They looked at him. He was staring at the rubble, devastated. 

“Tomorrow Comes bombed us.” Combeferre explained as he led Enjolras back to level ground so he could treat his arm. “So far, with you guys, there’s only twenty four of us.” 

“Where’s Marius?” Courfeyrac asked, looking around, “He got out alright, right?” 

“He’s at Valjean’s.” Enjolras said. Marius had told him that morning that he was going to be there. 

“Where’s Stephan? And Vincent and Angelica and Jacob? And Marcus?” Courfeyrac was looking around. He saw one of those people among the wounded, but most of them were missing, “Where is everyone?” 

“Babe.” Jehan said, catching their attention for the first time, “They were still inside.” 

Courfeyrac ran toward the wreckage, Jehan following after. Enjolras and Combeferre watched as their friend collapsed, desperately digging through what used to be their home. 

…

Night fell, and they had to give up their search for survivors. They made a camp and tried to find some sorts of blankets in all of the mess. Everyone was sleeping around fires, all together and separate all at once. Combeferre and Enjolras were sitting with Courfeyrac and Jehan, staring into their own fire. 

Courfeyrac had gotten over his initial shock rather quickly and had been crying steadily through the day, but Enjolras hadn’t gotten over his. Combeferre was frankly rather concerned. Enjolras knew all these people, he made a point of knowing them, why wasn’t he freaking out yet? 

Combeferre didn’t get his answer until they were lying next to each other on the sand, trying to stay warm by the fire. 

“They’re all right there.” Enjolras said suddenly, breaking the silence. Combeferre looked at him and Jehan and Courfeyrac looked over as well. 

“What?” Combeferre asked. Enjolras sat up, struggling a little against the sand. 

“They’re all right there! We can’t give up, we have to keep looking!” He struggled to stand, having only one arm to push himself up, and Combeferre tried to stop him. “NO! We can’t give up! We can’t leave them there to die!” 

“Enjolras, you need to sleep.” Combeferre reasoned, “You’ve been looking all day, there’s nothing we can do.” 

“But what if someone’s alive?” Enjolras asked, making his way towards the debris. He shrugged off the hand that Combeferre tried to put on his shoulder, “We have to keep looking!” 

Combeferre was at a loss. He knew he couldn’t reason with him. Courfeyrac got up and simply pulled Enjolras into a tight hug. The man fought it for a moment, then seemed to accept it. 

“I’ve got to keep looking!” He said desperately, beginning to cry, “I’m the one that got us all into this, I can’t just leave them there!” 

“I know.” Courfeyrac said, but he didn’t let go. “It’s not your fault.” 

“But I did this! I shouldn’t have sent them all on those missions, I should have made sure this place was more secure, I’m the one who led us here!” Enjolras sobbed, his words spaced with pauses for him to draw breath and cough. “I can’t just stop!” 

“We need to sleep.” Combeferre said again, putting his hand on Enjolras’s shoulder. “We will look more in the morning. 

Enjolras seemed to accept it, and they all went back to the campfire, but they didn’t get much sleep. 

… 

The next day, they continued to look for people. All they found were bodies. They turned up some supplies, but nothing else that was salvageable. Jehan took Courfeyrac’s car to ask Montparnasse for assistance, and while he was gone Marius returned from Valjean’s. 

They explained what happened to him, and to Cosette, who had driven him over on her motorcycle. She sped off to go talk to her father, to ask him for assistance as well. 

Valjean and Montparnasse both agreed to help out, though Montparnasse’s help was more of a debt to be paid later. Enjolras assured himself that he’d worry about it later. 

For the next three days, they had funerals every evening at twilight for the bodies they uncovered. They found about thirty people. Four of their friends who had survived the bombs died from their injuries. 

Combeferre felt incredibly guilty at these deaths. Could they have been prevented if he had only been better at basic first aid skills? He blamed himself and made sure to practice with Joly once the man got better.

With the supplies from Valjean and the loan from Montparnasse, Enjolras found them a big enough place for the time being. It was a little too close to the residential area for comfort, but it would do. They finally got Joly some painkillers, and he was helpful in helping Combeferre continue to treat the wounded. 

Valjean got Combeferre some glasses by the second day, and although they weren’t quite right for his eyes, it was a relief to be able to see almost clearly again. 

… 

A few months passed and it seemed that Operatives were cracking down on them hardcore, killing a few Amis on sight. Their numbers dwindled to eighteen. 

Combeferre was concerned for Courfeyrac, who was not taking any of this well at all. Well, no one was really taking it well, of course, but he’d expected Courfeyrac to be somehow cheerful even through everything that happened. He’d kind of been depending on it, what with Enjolras practically sealing himself away for a week after the bombings, but it seemed that Combeferre would have to be the strong one this time. 

Enjolras had thrown himself into planning, trying to find a more secure base for their remaining members and supplies, as well as a way to pay back Montparnasse. Brujon, one of the Amis that had survived the bombing, was a great help to him. He always seemed to be able to pull money from thin air, and even though it wasn’t much, it was a help. 

One day, while Combeferre was sitting in what used to be a bathroom, but was turned into a temporary office for Enjolras to store all his papers, Joly burst through the door without knocking. 

“Combeferre.” He said urgently, leaning heavily on his new cane, “You need to help me, Jehan’s sick and I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Combeferre hurried off with Joly. Jehan couldn’t be sick, Courfeyrac would be devastated. They had to make sure the kid was alright. 

Jehan was lying on a bed. He looked feverish and his eyes roamed all over the room, searching for something. 

“Jehan.” Joly said, putting a hand on Jehan’s shoulder, “Jehan, you can hear me, right?” 

“Yeah.” Jehan said, “Joly, has anyone told you how beautiful you are? You look like a wonderful golden marshmallow.” 

“What?” Joly asked, while Combeferre put his hand on the sick man’s forehead. He was burning up. 

“What happened?” Combeferre asked. 

“He came into my room a couple minutes ago, said ‘woah, the room’s spinning’ and fell over.” Joly recounted. “I’m like eighty percent sure it’s an STD, from what I could get out of him. He said something about it.” 

Combeferre sucked in a breath. He had to tell someone about this, he couldn’t treat STDs. 

“Sous.” Jehan said from the bed, drawing their attention. 

“What?” Joly asked again, “What even is that?” 

“So what are we doing?” Combeferre asked. “Do we have any medication at all?” 

“That’s what I was going to ask you.” Joly said, “I’ll try to lower the fever with a couple of those fever pills, but they can’t fight an infection. Other than that, I’ll just try to keep him hydrated.” 

“Shit.” Combeferre racked his brain, trying to think if they had anything that might help. “I’ll try to think of something. I need to talk to Enjolras first though, don’t let Courfeyrac know yet.” 

“Okay.” Joly agreed. “He’ll be back home in like half an hour though, so you might want to think of a way to break it to him easily.”

…

“What’s going on?” Enjolras asked, after Combeferre had led him to the bathroom/office so they could talk in private. 

“Jehan’s sick.” Combeferre said, without preamble, “Joly thinks it’s an STD.” 

Enjolras blinked in surprise. He’d really thought Jehan had left all that behind him, and he honestly felt kind of betrayed, and offended on Courfeyrac’s behalf. 

“What are we going to do?” Enjolras asked, “We have to tell Courf.” 

“Of course we have to tell Courf.” Combeferre said, “We can’t not let him know.” 

“Well did he say anything? Do you know how he got it?” Enjolras asked, “How do you even treat it? Which STD is it?” 

Combeferre shook his head helplessly. “Joly’s the one who would know about the medical side of this, and the only thing Jehan said when I was there was ‘Sous’.”

“‘Sous’?” Enjolras echoed. 

“Well, and he called Joly a toasted marshmallow, but I don’t think there’s a deeper meaning there.” 

“Do you think he was talking about Claquesous?” 

“I mean, that’s the only thing I could think of.” Combeferre said, “It was that or he had started speaking gibberish.” 

Enjolras nodded, “I’ll talk to Marius. You tell Courf when he gets back.” 

“Buy you’re the leader.” Combeferre protested. 

“You’re better at these things.” Enjolras countered. 

“You’re the better speaker.” 

“You’re a trained medical professional.” 

“Yeah, for chemicals!” 

“Thanks.” Enjolras said, patting his friend on the shoulder and going to seek out Marius. He heard Combeferre sigh behind him. 

…

“Hey Ferre.” Courfeyrac said as he got out of his car. Combeferre had been waiting for him. “What’s up?” 

“Um…” Combeferre said, “Jehan… he’s kind of sick.” 

“Oh yeah, he seemed a little warm this morning.” Courfeyrac said, sounding unconcerned, “Do you think it’s like a cold or something?” 

“No.” Combeferre admitted, “Joly thinks it’s kind of worse than a cold, you see… well… Joly thinks he has an STD.” 

There was a moment of silence. Combeferre couldn’t read his friend’s expression, he was wearing obnoxious pink sunglasses, but his mouth was turned into a thin-lipped frown. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Courfeyrac asked at last. 

“I…” Combeferre trailed off. He wanted to assuage his friend’s fears, but he didn’t want to give him false hope. “I don’t know, Courf.” 

“Where is he?” Courfeyrac’s voice was steady and emotionless. Combeferre expected something more typical of his friend’s penchant for the over dramatic, and this kind of worried him. 

“He’s in your room.” He said, and Courfeyrac set out without another word. 

…

“Marius said that Claquesous was their doctor-thing.” Enjolras told Combeferre as they watched Courfeyrac stand over the bed where Jehan was lying, mostly unconscious.

Combeferre nodded. It made sense why Jehan asked for him now. Courfeyrac continued to stare down at his boyfriend. Combeferre was getting more worried by the minute. 

Courfeyrac took off his sunglasses and set them beside the bed. He sat down next to Jehan, lifting the other man up a little and setting him so that his head was in his lap. Jehan groaned and shivered (he’d been having hot and cold flashes all afternoon, according to Joly). Courfeyrac looked up at them and they could see tears in his eyes. 

“I want to be mad.” Courfeyrac said, his voice raw. “But I can’t let his last memory of me be me being mad, you know?” 

Enjolras nodded. 

“Yeah.” Combeferre agreed. Joly had told them that it was much worse than he previously thought, it had gone untreated for some time. Marius was already headed to Montparnasse’s to ask for medication, but they didn’t know if it was going to be too late. 

Jehan stirred in Courfeyrac’s arms. 

“Fey?” He asked, softly. Combeferre had never heard anyone call their friend that before. He ushered Enjolras out of the room, giving them some privacy. 

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Enjolras asked, once they were in the hall. 

“I don’t know, I’m not that kind of doctor.” Combeferre said. 

“No,” Enjolras glanced back at the door. “I was talking about Courf.” 

Combeferre shrugged helplessly. He wasn’t that kind of doctor either. 

… 

“How are we going to pay for this?” Enjolras asked. 

He was with Combeferre, Brujon, and Feuilly. The three of them were his most trusted advisors about this kind of thing. He wanted Marius there, as their resident expert on Montparnasse and the Patron Minette, but he was unavailable. 

Combeferre shrugged helplessly. He was never much help in these situations. 

“We do have some money we were saving for the house.” Feuilly commented, “At least, that’s what I thought. We could dip into that.” 

“I suppose.” Enjolras said. He would, to save a friend, but he really didn’t want to. And he didn’t want to be more in debt with Montparnasse. 

“I’ll see if I can find some, or do some odd jobs.” Brujon said. Enjolras clapped him on the shoulder. That man would do anything to help. 

“Thank you, Brujon.” He said sincerely. 

… 

Montparnasse wanted to talk to Courfeyrac when he got there, which meant that someone had to watch Jehan. Combeferre disappeared (probably to get back at him for making him tell Courfeyrac bad news earlier), so Enjolras had to watch over the sick man. 

Jehan had been awake and aware for the last half hour. He’d told Joly that he’d been prostituting, just so the man would know how he was sick, and Courfeyrac had seemed upset, but reined it in.

“Hey.” Enjolras said, sitting next to him on the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

“Terrible.” Jehan replied. “Apparently I was complimenting Joly all day? I’m confused.” 

“Yeah.” Enjolras said, “I heard about that.” 

They sat in silence for a minute, before Jehan’s eyes snapped open. 

“Wait.” He said urgently, struggling with blankets in an effort to get up, “Enjolras. Enjolras, I needed to tell you something.” 

“Woah, calm down.” Enjolras said, gently pressing Jehan’s shoulder so he laid back down, “Take it easy.” 

“It’s important. I was going to find you, but I couldn’t make it.” Jehan said, giving in and lying back down. “I needed to talk to you.” 

 

“Well I’m here now.” Enjolras said in his most comforting voice. “What did you need to tell me?” 

“Brujon…” Jehan trailed off as though looking for words, “He’s been taking my money.” 

“Like from where you were saving it?” Enjolras asked, confused. Honestly he was kind of offended that Jehan had been saving money behind their backs, was he planning on running away or something? 

“No.” Jehan said, shaking his head weakly, “No, I was giving it to you! I was… I was trying to.” 

Enjolras was more confused, but he let the man continue. 

“I gave it to Brujon and he was supposed to give it to you.” Jehan said, “But he wasn’t! He was only giving you a little and it wasn’t what we agreed on and all I wanted to do was help.” 

It felt as though there was an invisible hand squeezing Enjolras’s heart. He wanted to not believe Jehan, but the man wasn’t coherent enough to be making up stories. Besides, it fit too well. Marius had been stressing out for weeks about how Brujon seemed to be finding money from nowhere that Marius himself couldn’t find. And he never seemed to leave the base, making them wonder how he was doing “odd jobs”. 

“I see.” Enjolras said. His mind was racing. He had no idea how to fix this.

“I was doing this for you guys.” Jehan said. He seemed to be slipping back into delirium, a faraway look in his eyes. “I wanted… I wanted to do _something_. And that’s the only thing I’m any good at.” 

Enjolras’s heart melted. “Jehan…”

“I want Courf.” Jehan said, frowning. “I just want Courf. He’s gonna be so _mad_.”

“Everything will be alright as long as you explain.” Enjolras tried to reason. Jehan shook his head and wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s middle, surprising the blond. 

“But I _promised_ I wasn’t gonna do it and I _lied_.” Jehan said into his shirt pitifully. “And I _really_ love him and he’s gonna break up with me and-” He drew in shaky, sobbing breaths and Enjolras rubbed his shoulder soothingly. 

“Courfeyrac can’t stay mad for long.” Enjolras assured him, “And he’s crazy about you.” 

“You really think so?” Jehan asked, looking up at him. “He’s so great. One time I had a nightmare and after I woke up Courf held me all night.” 

“That was sweet of him.” Enjolras said, wondering what else Jehan had expected Courfeyrac to do. 

“Uh huh. I thought so too. No one’s ever done that before. And this one time, he…” 

…

Jehan had talked about how great Courfeyrac was for a good ten minutes, before Montparnasse came up and asked for a few moments alone with him. Enjolras left the room and saw Courfeyrac waiting. 

“Hey.” Enjolras wanted to ask about what he and Montparnasse had discussed, but he didn’t. 

“Hey.” Courfeyrac said back, sounding beyond tired. 

“You feeling any better?” 

Courfeyrac shook his head, “I’m still mad. If the medicine works as well as Parnasse says it should, I’m going to kill him myself.” 

“Hey,” Enjolras said, drawing Courfeyrac’s attention away from the door, where he had been staring. “Take it easy on him, okay? Hear him out.” 

Courfeyrac frowned and sighed, “Fine.” 

…

That evening, Enjolras confronted Brujon. No one really knows what transpired behind the closed door during the fight, but Enjolras ended up with several thousand dollars of stolen money and Brujon ended up with a broken jaw. 

The money went straight into paying off Montparnasse for his loan. There was so much that there was some left over for them to save for a new house. Enjolras had offered the money back to Jehan, but the man had seemed offended at the very notion. 

…

They found the Musian a month later. Two of their members had died on a mission, their current base was too close to the Operatives for comfort and they needed out. The run-down saloon was the best option. 

Courfeyrac and Feuilly fixed up the piping and electric, while Bahorel, Bossuet, and Musichetta had worked on the house itself. It took a lot of work, but they finally had a safe place of their own.

Over the next few months, five members left the Amis. Enjolras had been angry and upset, and sad to see them go, but he just told them that they could do what they wanted. Courfeyrac was more upset to see them go, but then again, Courfeyrac was more friendly. 

Combeferre was concerned about how much Enjolras was cutting himself off from the group. There were only ten of them now, and Combeferre thought they should be a tighter knit group in order to survive. 

Enjolras came around eventually though, with the rise of the radio. Marius had introduced it, saying that there really wasn’t that much entertainment in the wastelands aside from Tomorrow Comes Radio News. 

Enjolras took to the radio better than anyone could have hoped.

… 

Three years passed. Nothing eventful happened. Enjolras stopped sending the Amis on many missions, only really sending them out for supplies and to give aid. He’d grown too attached to them all, despite his best efforts. 

Combeferre had gotten a lab set up and was working on compiling what he had lost in the bombing. It was a slow process, but he figured that he’d sort everything he needed out eventually. Everything was working out for the better. 

Then Bossuet was captured in a run. Although Enjolras had promised that they wouldn’t go after anyone that got captured, everyone knew it was a lie, he’d gotten rather attached to them. So he sent Joly and Musichetta to go get him.


	2. It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Death Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated (M). There are Non-Con elements in this chapter, so please proceed with caution. The non con elements are not between Courfeyrac and Jehan.
> 
> This chapter is the story of Courfeyrac and Jehan...
> 
> _“Yes.” Courfeyrac interrupted him, before internally slapping his forehead. He was not being calm and cool, why did he have to act like Marius all of the sudden?_
> 
> _Jehan giggled. “I haven’t even asked yet.”_

Courfeyrac had always been a little off as a kid. Not in any dangerous way, not like Enjolras or even like Combeferre. He was just always so happy, and no one could figure out why. 

His parents had been talked to by Tomorrow Comes agents, asked if he was going to be a problem. They’d replied that he was fine, and the medication had no effect on lowering his happiness levels, so they let him be. 

After that, his parents had had a talk with him. He was only seven, but he knew he was off. He knew that there was a reason only Enjolras and Combeferre would talk to him, but he tried his hardest to make the other kids like him. His parents told him to tone himself down, that they loved him and they wanted him to be happy, but he had to keep his happiness quiet. 

He didn’t really understand, why would he want to keep all this happiness to himself? But he listened, and soon enough he was accepted by everyone in his class, even becoming somewhat friends with every person. 

He never really understood Combeferre and Enjolras, how they seemed so strange sometimes. Enjolras nearly seemed to disapprove whenever Courfeyrac spaced out, but it wasn’t something he could help. It was a side effect of the medicine, everyone spaced out sometimes. 

Courfeyrac really just didn’t understand people in general. He loved people, but he didn’t understand them. What he did understand was machines. Ever since he was a little boy, his parents taught him how to take things apart and put them back together. Looking back on it, what they had been doing was pretty illegal, you were not supposed to tamper with Tomorrow Comes property, but back then it all seemed like he was just having fun, bonding with his parents. 

When he was a Sophomore, he was exploring the halls of his school and he happened upon a small, unlocked door. He opened it and saw that it was just a small, dusty broom closet. He nearly gasped at the sight, it was full of brightly colored chemicals and it was secluded. He checked and there were no hidden cameras. He decided that it was going to be his Super Secret Hideout. 

For a few days, Courfeyrac spent his study hall in the Super Secret Hideout. He’d grown rather attached to it, and it seemed as though no one else knew it existed. But it was kind of lonely. What good was a Super Secret Hideout without someone to hide with? He decided he’d tell Enjolras, Combeferre seemed to disapprove of things like this. 

“Hey Enjolras.” He said, grabbing the other boy. He and Enjolras both had a study period this hour, but they weren't really supposed to interact. “I want to show you something.” 

“What is it?” Enjolras asked, closing his book. Courfeyrac glanced at a camera, unsure if he should be talking about this while people might be listening in. The Super Secret Hideout was obviously against the rules. Enjolras followed his gaze up at the camera and nodded, as though he’d gotten some message Courfeyrac was trying to tell him. Courfeyrac was slightly confused, but he just led Enjolras to the Super Secret Hideout. 

“What?” Enjolras asked, as Courfeyrac opened the door and shoved him inside. He flicked on the dim light. 

“Ta-dah!” Courfeyrac said, waving his arms a little to show off the space, “Isn’t it great? There’s no cameras or anything!” 

Enjolras looked around. Courfeyrac held his breath, suddenly afraid that Enjolras wouldn’t like it or that he’d tell a teacher or something. Enjolras grinned at him. 

“This is so cool!” He said, looking around, “How did you find this place?” 

“I tried opening random doors until one opened.” Courfeyrac admitted. “So you like it? Do you think we should show Combeferre?” 

Enjolras looked slightly unsure. “We should.” He said at length, “There are things I wanted to talk about where no one could listen in.” 

“What kind of things?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“Illegal things.” Enjolras admitted. “Don’t you ever think that this whole system is unfair? How they treat everyone, how they drug us up?”

“I’ve never put that much thought into it.” Courfeyrac lied. He pretended to not have strong opinions sometimes, it helped him pretend to be normal, “But I guess so.” 

“I haven’t been taking my whole dose of medication.” Enjolras admitted, “And it’s helped me think of things more… clearly.” 

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac said. That made sense. “Mine hasn’t always been effective.”

“Oh.” Enjolras said, looking at him oddly, “That actually makes a lot of sense.” 

“I know.” Courfeyrac agreed, though he felt slightly offended at the comment. “But we should tell Combeferre.” 

“I don’t know.” Enjolras said, “Combeferre seems to follow the rules a lot.” 

Courfeyrac privately disagreed. After years of watching how people acted, he knew that there was something distinctly _off_ about Combeferre. Not in a bad way, not at all, but something made him just the slightest bit different from everyone else. 

“I’m sure he would agree.” Courfeyrac said, voice full of conviction. “He might not like the closet, he does like to follow the rules, but I think that he just follows them so closely so they don’t get mad at him.” 

“That’s why everyone follows rules, Courfeyrac.” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. 

Courfeyrac disagreed. It was why he followed rules, and why Enjolras probably followed rules, but the general population seemed to follow the rules because they really, truly thought that they were the guidelines for what was best for them. Courfeyrac shrugged. 

“Whatever.” He said, “I think he’s trustworthy.” 

“What if he tells someone?” Enjolras asked. 

“He won’t.” Courfeyrac promised, “And if he does, what’s the worst that could happen? We get reprimanded for hanging out in a closet, we promise not to do it anymore, and everything goes back to the way it was before.” 

Courfeyrac knew that the worst that could actually happen was the facility, but he never liked to bring that place up if he could help it. Enjolras nodded. 

“Alright.” He said, “We’ll tell him.” 

…

That afternoon they told Combeferre at lunch time. After one heart-stopping moment where Courfeyrac prayed that Combeferre wouldn’t prove him wrong, everything fell into place. They had regular meetings and everything seemed fine. 

At first, he felt like the least informed member of their little rebel group. He’d never looked any of this stuff up because he’d never wanted to think about it. But he couldn’t be the least informed, he wanted to be in on these debates. He started to research and became just as informed as his friends. 

In school, Courfeyrac was on a track to be a mechanical engineer. He was near the top of his class, something that surprised his teachers. It was honestly only because he had more hands-on experience than his peers, and his hobby at home was to take apart everything not currently in use and put it back together. His parents never yelled at him for it, and he was forever grateful. 

Courfeyrac honestly loved his parents a lot. They were always super supportive, and even if he couldn’t talk to them about some things, for fear of his safety, he knew they loved him and they let him do what made him happy. 

…

During the summer after Sophomore year, Courfeyrac started to have strange thoughts. He’d always had crushes on girls, he’d always gotten those crushes rather easily, actually. But as the summer progressed, he realized similarities between what he felt for pretty girls on first sight and what he felt for pretty boys on first sight. 

For a few months, Courfeyrac wrestled with his feelings. He didn’t want to be homosexual. He wanted to be normal, that’s all he ever wanted. He hung out with his friends, this self-realization weighing him down. Then, one day, he decided that they deserved to know. 

All the research he’d done led him to believe that everything about the way he was feeling was wrong, something to be ashamed of and to be fixed. Courfeyrac disagreed, there were plenty of things wrong with him, but he didn’t think this was the worst, how could it be? He wasn’t hurting anyone. 

He didn’t know if Enjolras and Combeferre felt that way, though. They’d talked about homosexuality only in the context of the facility, only talking about how it was unfair that homosexuals were sent away. Courfeyrac figured that that was a good sign, however it could just be them being good people. They could still hate homosexuals and want them to be treated humanely. He honestly wasn’t sure of their real opinions. 

If the notion disgusted them, however, he would have thought they’d have mentioned it. At times it felt like they knew, like they could smell it on his skin. The paranoia was driving him crazy. He decided that he had to tell them, for better or for worse. 

Courfeyrac started to wear one of his mother’s necklaces under his uniform. She never seemed to notice it was gone, but he thought she might suspect. It was just… it was nice to have something of hers, something to remind him that even if things went badly he’d have something to go back to at the end of the day. 

He got to the Super Secret Hideout early the day he decided to tell them, not stopping at his locker to ditch his books. He wanted to be there before Enjolras and Combeferre started a debate, so nothing could distract him into not telling them. 

Combeferre came in first. 

“Hey Courfeyrac.” He said casually, before seeming to notice that the other boy was not his relaxed self. “What’s up?” 

“I want to wait for Enjolras to tell you.” Courfeyrac said. He frowned. “You guys are my friends, right?” 

“Of course.” Combeferre responded, looking at him oddly, “What else would we be?” 

Courfeyrac shrugged, “I don’t know… you actually like me though, right? You’re not just hanging out with me because you feel bad that I don’t have other friends?” 

“Courfeyrac, you have more friends than any of us.” Combeferre pointed out. “ _You_ are the one who is gracing _us_ with your presence.” 

Courfeyrac nodded, “Yeah, I know.” He said, just shy of actually joking, “Just checking.” 

He didn’t know if that affirmance made things better or worse. If they were his real friends, they’d accept him no matter what, right? But then if they didn’t, he’d be left without his two best friends in the whole world. 

He felt almost ill by the time Enjolras walked in. 

“What’s going on, guys?” Enjolras asked. Combeferre shrugged and Courfeyrac collected himself. Now or never. 

“I uh… I have something I need to tell you guys.” He said, looking at his shoes as he swung his feet slightly on the shelf. 

“What is it?” Combeferre asked after a silent pause. 

“Um… I kind of want you to know that, um…” He paused. He could back out. He could tell them something funny and make them roll their eyes and the uncomfortable silence would lift and everyone would be happy again. “I am a homosexual.” 

The silence stretched out for an eternity. Courfeyrac swallowed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the silence to end or not. 

“It’s, um. It’s cool if you guys don’t want to be friends with me or something,” Courfeyrac couldn’t take the silence anymore, obviously they were disgusted. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea? “I’ll just um… show myself out.”

He hopped off the shelf and stumbled. Combeferre grabbed his arm, stopping him from falling. He looked up, hopeful. Maybe they didn’t hate him. Maybe at least Combeferre still had an ounce of respect for him. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Combeferre said. “Of course we want to be your friend.”

Courfeyrac’s heart soared. Combeferre still liked him.

“Yeah.” Enjolras added, “Do you think we’d be upset over something like that?” 

“Kind of?” Courfeyrac said, it was a lot to take in. He had been happy that only Combeferre still wanted to be his friend, but both of them? It felt like too much to ask. 

“No, we were just a little shocked.” Enjolras explained, “I’ve never met a homosexual before.” 

“...Yeah me either.” Combeferre said.

“So I’m you’re first homosexual experience?” Courfeyrac joked. 

…

Everything seemed to be fine until that weekend. Combeferre had gotten his house, free of parents and free of cameras, secured for them to hang out. There was nothing Courfeyrac liked more than hanging out and talking somewhere that _wasn’t_ the closet. Don’t get him wrong, he loved the closet, but it was always a little terrifying, the thought that someone might come in. 

Days that either he or Combeferre could be in their house alone was a treat. They never knew what was up with Enjolras’s house, just that he never invited them over. Enjolras seemed to enjoy those weekends just as much as they did. 

Not that time though. He skipped out on them with some made up test to study for. Courfeyrac felt his stomach drop, what if Enjolras was just going along with this, saying this was fine because of Combeferre? What if he really didn’t like him? 

He voiced these opinions to Combeferre, who told him that he was wrong. He sighed. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. 

“Hey Combeferre?” He asked.

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not sure that I am homosexual.” Courfeyrac admitted. After what he told his friends, he had gone back and looked at girls again, and he felt those same feelings popping up for them. Were those real feelings? Or was it just society’s standards ingrained into his brain? He’d never figure it out. 

Combeferre leaned over to look at him, “What?” 

“I mean,” Courfeyrac fiddled with a necklace, trying to find his words “I mean I’m pretty sure I like guys, but I like girls and… this is confusing, okay?” 

“Yeah.” Combeferre agreed, “Is there any way to figure it out?” 

“I mean, I guess if I kissed a guy or kissed a girl I’d be able to tell, I mean people seem really into it in the movies, you know? But that’s not possible.” Courfeyrac lamented. How was he supposed to find another gay person in this whole messed up world? 

“How do you know it’s not possible?”

Courfeyrac looked at him, “I mean, maybe the total lack of homosexual people may have tipped me off.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, “Let me just ask everyone to volunteer to kiss me.” 

“I mean I’d kiss you.” Combeferre offered. 

Courfeyrac sat straight up. “Really?” He never thought Combeferre would do anything like that, it was so illegal. 

“Yeah. I mean, to help you figure this out.” Combeferre reasoned.

“You’d do that for me?” Courfeyrac was touched. “Really? You’re not even homosexual.” 

“Anything for a friend.” Combeferre said. 

“Okay, so we gotta do this like the movies.” Courfeyrac said, standing up. He pulled up Combeferre and pushed him around by the shoulders to position him correctly. “Okay, now you have to lean down and kiss me.” 

“Alright.” Combeferre said, leaning down to kiss him.

“Wait!” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre pulled back. “I’m nervous. What if I’m not homosexual?” He was freaking out, what if he made Combeferre do this for nothing?

“I mean, this is to find out.” Combeferre said reasonably. 

“I know, I just… I told you guys, and if I went back it’d be weird…” Courfeyrac was cut off by lips pressed against his own. 

He froze for a moment, his hands awkwardly in mid-gesture, but then he regained some composure. He leaned up into the kiss, throwing his arms around Combeferre’s neck. He kissed back, too enthusiastic to really be any good, but he loved every second of it. 

They drew back over a few moments. 

“Wow.” Courfeyrac said, taking a deep breath, “Yeah, I definitely like boys.” Mystery solved. 

…

After an embarrassing incident where Courfeyrac proclaimed his love for Combeferre and then retracted it, life seemed to return to normal. Well almost normal. 

“I was talking to Julie when, out of the corner of my eye I saw it. The kid was yelling and stripping off his clothes. I’ve never seen anything as shocking in my life.” Courfeyrac said to the rapt crowd of students. 

“Then what happened?” A freshman asked. Courfeyrac didn’t remember her name. 

“Then, my dear lady, he jumped into the fountain.” 

The crowd gasped. 

“I know, right?” He said, reveling in it all. “Ten Operatives approached and dragged him kicking and screaming out of the fountain.” 

“I thought he went peacefully.” One kid commented. Courfeyrac shot him a look. He was telling this story. 

“Kicking and screaming.” He reiterated. “And he yelled ‘I’ll be out by the end of the week! Just you wait!’” 

“Did he really?” The freshman asked. Courfeyrac nodded. 

“Of course. Would I lie to you?” 

…

That summer, Courfeyrac was bored. So bored. Beyond bored. He had played ping pong until he thought he’d follow the other kid’s example and run into the fountain, stripping off his clothes and screaming. 

However, that summer his parents got him a car. Most kids didn’t have one yet, but they told him that he was doing well in school and aced the driving test, so he deserved it. He thought that maybe they were sick of him taking apart the TV. 

Combeferre was off doing an internship and Enjolras seemed to have vanished from this plane of existence, so he spent hours working on his car. When he had a good grasp of how it worked, he grew bored. What could he do to change things up? 

He decided to add a toaster to his car. He wanted toast, it seemed like a relatively easy process. It turned out that he actually loved modifying Tomorrow Comes property, modification was way better than just taking things apart. 

He dedicated the rest of the summer to turning his car into the best thing it could be, turning his car into a work of art. 

…

Jehan was born in the wastelands. He lived a quiet life, his parents were legal citizens Tomorrow Comes and they were happy in the desert. He never really remembered much of his childhood, he just remembered being happy. 

He did remember the day his father was taken. He was nine years old. His father had just come back from Thenardiers and given something to his mother, her “medication”, when a car full of Operatives drove straight up to the house. They took the three of them into custody. 

Jehan was put into a white room with a white bed and white toys to play with. He was old enough that the toys did not completely derail him from worrying about his parents, and about himself. Did his parents do something wrong? Why had they taken him? 

A nice lady came in and talked to him. She asked him all these questions about his schooling (he was going to the elementary school in the wastelands), his medication (his mother gave it to him every day) and about life at home (it was always happy). She asked a lot of questions about the medication in particular, about whether his parents were taking it, how they were taking it, and other things. 

After she was done asking him questions, he got to sleep overnight in the room. Then the next day, he got to stay with his mom. When he asked about his dad, she refused to answer. 

It turned out that his father hadn’t been taking his medication. His mother appeared to be on the right dosage (a little high, but still), and he was fine, but his father was clean of all medication. The Operatives had picked him up for some illegal dealings with the Thenardiers and they were taking him to the facility for some reconditioning. 

The Tomorrow Comes workers had offered Jehan’s mother a place in the city, and guaranteed that her husband would come to live with them after a month of treatment, but she refused. 

…

Jehan’s life changed drastically over the next few years. His mother pulled him out of school in the sixth grade so he could do odd jobs for money. It turned out that the reason she wanted to stay in the wastelands after her husband was taken was because of some illegal drugs she was on. 

They were like the contentment pills, except to the extreme. When she was on them, she spaced out, in total bliss. And when she was off of them she turned into a pure being of rage. It was like she was an entirely separate entity from the mom he knew as a child. 

… 

When he was thirteen, she sent him outside on a cold night with some money and told him to get her “prescription” from Thenardier. He set out, huddled into a thin jacket against the cold, walking along the more sketchy part of the west residential area. 

He got to the mouth of an alley, and someone pulled him in. 

It was dark in the alley, too dark to see the man’s face. Jehan had been mugged before, it was hard to live in this area and walk around as much as he did and _not_ get mugged at one point or another. 

“Hey.” Jehan said as the man took out a knife. “I know you want my money, but can we just not do this?” 

“What?” The man asked, confused. Jehan supposed that no one had actually said anything like that to him before. 

“It’s just, I need to get my mom these drugs, and if I don’t she’ll lock me out of the house.” Jehan explained. “She’ll probably beat the shit out of me in the morning too.” 

“Does it look like that’s my problem?” The mugger asked. Jehan sighed. It had been worth a shot. He handed over his money and almost asked for the man to cut him or something so he’d have proof when he walked home empty handed. The man demanded he turn over his jacket as well, and ran off with it and the money. 

“Fuck.” Jehan said to the empty alley. “Now what am I supposed to do?” 

He crossed his arms, shivering in the cold as he considered his options. There was no way he’d be allowed home with no drugs and no money, and the Thenardiers were not likely to give him a loan. He rubbed his arms, he had been wearing one of his mom’s spaghetti strap tank tops in the sun that day, and he regretted not changing when he got home. Bruises from his mother, from an incident earlier in the week, littered his bare arms. 

He decided he’d go to Thenardier. It was worth a shot, and maybe the man would let him sleep in the shop if he acted pitiful enough. 

He exited the alley, into the more well-lit street area. As he walked down, a man approached him. 

“Hey cutie.” He said, eyeing Jehan, “What are you doing tonight?” 

Jehan took an instinctive step back. But then time seemed to freeze. He could make the money back, he could sleep at home tonight, and all he had to do was an hour’s work. He knew the rates, he’d worked with plenty of hookers. He could do this. He took a deep breath and looked up at the man through his lashes, squeezing his shoulders closer to his torso so that one of the straps from his tank top fell down over his arm. 

“I might be doing you, if the price is right.” He said, trying for a seductive voice. God, he sounded stupid. The man seemed to like it, though. 

And that’s how Jehan ended up losing his virginity in an alley where he’d just been mugged. To be fair, it was only a blowjob. It wasn’t anything too bad. He’d definitely dealt with worse in his life. 

He all but ran to Thenardier’s afterwards. He was shaking as he paid for the drugs, but he convinced himself that it was the cold, nothing more. He was just cold. With the extra money he bought one of their nicer winter coats and made the journey back home. 

…

Two weeks later, his mother found the winter coat he’d bought at Thenardiers. 

“Jean Prouvaire, what the fuck is this?” She asked, grabbing his arm. He swallowed. She only used his full name when she was upset. 

“A jacket.” He responded. She slapped him for the remark. He should have known better by now. “It’s from Thenardiers.” 

“Oh yeah?” She asked, shaking him a little with the hand still on his arm, “How exactly did you afford a jacket?” 

“I did a job.” Jehan said, scrambling to think of an excuse. 

“So you spent _my money_ on a jacket?” She demanded. All his money was supposed to go to her, he belonged to her. He swallowed hard. “What kind of job got you enough money for that?” 

“It was a handjob.” Jehan said. She stared at him for a long moment. He expected blows, but none came. 

“Jean.” She said seriously. “You had sex for money?” 

Jehan grew the slightest bit hopeful. Maybe some of her long-buried maternal instincts had risen up and she was hit with how fucked up the situation was. Her thirteen-year-old son had whored himself out. He nodded. 

“I… I got mugged in an alley and I couldn’t come home empty handed and it was so cold…” He trailed off. “I did what I had to do.” 

She looked half-shocked for a moment. He thought that maybe he got through to her, maybe things would be better now. Maybe this was rock bottom, and it was only up from here on out. 

She grinned, and it felt like she’d handed him a shovel and told him to dig. 

“This is great.” She said. “Do you know how much money that could make? Jesus, I should have started you in on this sooner, you obviously don’t have any problem doing it.” 

Jehan fought back sudden tears. Why did he feel like crying? He honestly should have expected it, should have expected her to take this as hers as well. He’d gotten his hopes up for nothing. 

…

After that, he went out nearly every night. He hated it, he hated the cold, he hated the men, he hated his life. He was pretty good at it, though. It was like this was what he was born to do. 

His mother took all of the money, as he expected, but she did allow him some for clothes. Only “working clothes”, but he enjoyed it. He loved that little freedom, picking out what he wanted to wear. And he could get away with so many bright, clashing colors. 

…

It had been a year and a half since he started, when it happened. He’d look upon this event later as one of the worst nights of his life. He could remember it in perfect detail. 

It was a normal night. He’d staked out his own territory and regulars by now. He knew this one guy was going to come by any minute, and he was checking his reflection in a pane-glass window. He was wearing a cut off, fuzzy jacket and lime green shorts with his bright pink boots. He liked to think that the way the colors violated people’s eyes made them want to take off his clothes faster. That, and pink and green were his favorite colors and he hated to choose between the two. 

A figure approached him from behind. He turned around slowly, trying to give off a “I’ve been expecting you” vibe. 

“Felix…” He said, but when he looked at the man’s face it was someone distinctly non-Felix. “Oh? Hello there.” 

“Shut your mouth, whore.” The man said, stepping towards Jehan, backing him up against a wall. Jehan internally sighed. These customers always wanted to act all tough before they paid. 

“Ooh,” He giggled, “You’re so tough. If you pay me, I’ll let you show me how tough you really are.” 

“I told you to shut your mouth.” The man said, grasping Jehan’s shoulder and shoving it back against the wall, hard. Jehan winced. 

“I’ll shut my mouth if you pay me.” Jehan said, trying to move his shoulder out of the man’s grip. He couldn’t. 

The man pulled him forward and pushed him back, slamming his back against the wall. Pain shot through Jehan and his heart sped up. Generally people didn’t fuck with him, and when they had there was always someone out there to shame them into paying or leaving. The sand was blowing harshly and the streets were dead tonight. 

“Shut up!” The man yelled in his face. Jehan shut up. “You’re going to give me whatever I want to take, and you’re going to like it, alright?” 

Jehan nodded. He could get through this. If he did this fast enough, he could make up for the lost time not being paid. He could handle this, he would handle this. The man dragged him into the alley and he felt like his heart was going to pound its way out of his chest. He couldn’t actually handle this. 

He couldn’t deal with it this way. He had to be in control, this wasn’t right. The man threw him to the ground and he got up a little, sitting back on his elbows. He tried to crawl backwards, but to no avail. His jacket was stripped off of him. The man gripped his waist and popped the button off of his shorts, ripping the zipper as he forced them down. Jehan felt absurd sadness over his ruined clothes. One of his boots came off when the man took off his shorts. 

Jehan always came to work prepared, and this day was no different. It made what the man did to him easier to heal from, but it made it harder for Jehan to deal with, he felt like his body was inviting the man. He was used to better treatment, even if his client was being rough, they were somewhere where it wouldn’t hurt Jehan. This man obviously didn’t care, and Jehan could feel his arms scraping against the rough pavement, bleeding. 

He struggled against the man. It’s not like he gave up or anything, he did put up a fight. It was just… the man was so much stronger. Jehan wasn’t a threat. All he got for his efforts was a swelling lip and an order to be still. He disobeyed and was rewarded with a black eye. 

The man was halfway done with Jehan, when Jehan saw someone passing by the alley. It was now or never, and he hoped that he hadn’t mislaid his faith in humanity. 

“HELP!” He yelled, causing the figure to pause. “Please help me!” 

The man on top of him smashed his head back against the pavement. Jehan saw stars burst to life before his eyes. But then the man’s weight was off of him. 

He looked up, struggling into a sitting position. He saw a huge man kicking at the man who had assaulted him. There was someone else there too, who was looking on with his arms crossed. 

Jehan had never felt so naked in his whole life, and he was mostly clothed. He curled in on himself to hide away from these people and watched as the giant curbstomped the man who hurt him. It was gratifying. 

The man who had been watching turned to look at Jehan. He picked up the pink boot and Jehan’s shorts and held them out in offering to him. Jehan hesitantly took them and stood carefully, pulling on the shorts and then the boot. 

“You should be more careful, kid.” The man said, “What’s your name?” 

“Jean.” Jehan said automatically. It was the name he gave his clients. This man though, he did come to his rescue. He didn’t want to have him say that name that he hated. “I mean Jehan.” 

“Must have hit your head pretty hard to forget your own name.” The man commented. “I’m Montparnasse.” He gestured back to the giant, who was checking the man on the ground for a pulse. “That’s Gueulemer.” 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Jehan said automatically. He needed to think of real responses, not his generic, scripted ones. “Thanks, by the way.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Montparnasse said, winking, “It’ll ruin my rep.” 

Montparnasse turned on his heel and left, Gueulemer trailing behind him. Jehan watched them go. He picked up his jacket from where it was lying on the ground. He stood there for a moment, looking at the maybe-dead man lying on the ground. He spit on him and turned back to where he normally waited for customers. 

He felt fine, he told himself. He looked in the window, glancing at his reflection. He was bleeding. His arms were bleeding, his head was bleeding, and his lips were bleeding. When had that happened? One of his eyes was swelling shut, which explained his sudden lack of vision. He looked like a mess. Jehan peeled back the side of his shorts to look at his hips and saw bruises beginning to form. 

Felix chose that moment to walk up to him. 

“Jean, sweetie, what happened?” The balding man asked, concerned. Jehan considered his options. 

“Catfight.” He responded, grinning through the split lip. “I lost. I’m not much of a fighter.” 

“Aw, my poor baby.” The man said, “Was it another hooker?” 

“I think so.” Jehan lied. “I think I’m going to go home tonight, but I wanted to stay and tell you so you didn’t wait up for me, baby.” 

“You’re too good to me.” The man said, kissing Jehan’s hand. The contact sickened him. He smiled anyways. 

“You’re shivering! Do you want my coat?” The man asked. Jehan hadn’t noticed, but he was indeed shaking. He shook his head. 

“No, I’ve got one.” He said, lifting it a little to prove it, “And I’ll be home soon, so there’s no rush.” 

“Alright. Goodnight Jean.” Felix said, and left. Jehan sighed. 

He couldn’t go home empty handed, and there was no way he could earn anything tonight. Felix was probably his most gentle, vanilla customer, and he couldn’t even handle him. His thoughts turned back to the alley and the man lying in it. 

…

Jehan returned home with the contents of a dead man’s wallet. He was honestly impressed that he hadn’t fallen over, walking in heels with a (probably) minor concussion. His mother counted the money, then looked at him. 

“What happened to your face?” She asked cruelly. 

Jehan considered telling her the truth, wrapping his arms around her and crying like a child. But he knew she wouldn’t go for that. He shrugged. 

“Someone got a little rough.” He said. For a moment, she looked concerned, but then the moment was gone. 

“Clean yourself up.” She ordered. “And I guess this means you can’t go out for a few days.” 

Jehan figured that that was all the kindness he could hope for, and went to wash his face. 

… 

Months passed. Jehan got better. At first he had a hard time dealing with people again, but he was nothing if not an excellent actor. They never noticed his discomfort. 

His mother was deteriorating. She was spending his money faster than he could make it. She needed more and more drugs to get her fix, and she started sending him out and demanding more and more money. 

He was exhausted. Exhausted and worried. He cared about his mother despite everything that had happened. After all, she was his mom and she was the only human contact he had outside of hookers and johns. Despite his concern, he knew that he had to get out of there, his mother couldn’t sustain herself like this. 

The good thing about this new situation was that his mother kept less tabs on his money and never searched his room, which meant that he could stash all of his extra cash. He was saving up to get the hell out. He’d turned sixteen a few weeks ago and was already counting down the days to eighteen, where he could re-register himself as a citizen of Tomorrow Comes and move to New Paris. He didn't agree with a thing they stood for, but he figured that after reconditioning he wouldn't care.

…

Jehan’s plans were ruined by Montparnasse. He came home from work one morning, the sun rising steadily on the horizon and collapsed on the couch. He was half asleep when the man was suddenly in his house, followed by Gueulemer and an unfamiliar scrawny man. 

His mother was in the living room as well. Jehan slowly sat up and watched the exchange in silence. 

“I promise I’ll get you the money. I’m working on it.” His mother was saying. Montparnasse shook his head. 

“That’s what you said the last three times. We’ve been generous with you, Mrs. Prouvaire, but you’ve reached the end of that generosity.” He said. 

“What do you want? I don’t have the money, what am I supposed to do?” She begged. Jehan’s eyes widened. 

“How much does she owe?” He asked, drawing their attention. Montparnasse considered him. 

“Ten thousand.” He answered, “And I hear she owes more to others as well.” 

Jehan swallowed. He hadn’t saved up nearly that much. He couldn’t help her.

“I’ve got two thousand.” He offered, “Is there any way you can take that as a payment?” 

“You little slut!” His mother yelled, outraged, “Keeping money from me! You can take him as payment. That should cover my debts.” 

Montparnasse looked offended at the offer. He raised his gun. 

“Sorry sweetie.” He said to Jehan, “But I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” 

He pulled the trigger. Jehan saw his mother’s brains go all over the room. His jaw dropped. 

“Mom?” He asked softly. Montparnasse took a step back in surprise. Jehan stood and staggered forward, falling to his knees in front of his mother. “Mom?” 

“That was your mom?” Montparnasse asked, frowning, “Shit, I’m sorry. I thought she was your pimp. I would have had you leave the room.” 

“You killed my mom.” Jehan said, his voice hollow. 

“How old are you? Jesus. She never said she had a kid.” Montparnasse frowned at her body. 

“Sixteen.” Jehan said. Montparnasse’s eyes widened. 

“You’re sixteen _now_? I thought you were sixteen like what, two years ago? In the alley? Fuck. You’re too young for this. Fuck, where are you going to live?” Montparnasse’s babbled. 

“You… you shot my mom… what am I going to do?” Jehan asked, looking lost. Montparnasse took a breath, seeming to be trying to compose himself. 

“You can do anything you want. You don’t belong to anyone anymore.” He said, before the scrawny guy interrupted. 

“I think the Ops are on their way.” He said. “We’d better get out of here.” 

“Shit.” Montparnasse said. “Okay, kid. You’re going to come with us for now until we get this all straightened out. Pack a bag fast.” 

Jehan nodded. He didn’t want to look at his mother any more. He ran off to his room and shoved everything he could think of into the bag. He glanced longingly at his shoes, but he knew he’d never be able to bring them all with. Only the essentials. 

He was out of his room in five minutes. They ran out to the car and Jehan sat silently while they drove. Montparnasse lived surprisingly close to the city. Jehan might have made a comment if he was in any way coherent. 

…

Jehan was in shock for the majority of the day, but after he’d been given a room with a lock, he seemed to come back to himself. He locked himself in the room and refused to come out for anything. Montparnasse, in all his wisdom, had given Jehan the only key. 

For the next few days, Jehan refused to let anyone but Gueulemer in his room. Montparnasse tried to get him to open the door for him, but he refused, calling him a “dirty mother killing asshole” through the door. 

Jehan knew he should probably be afraid of Gueulemer, the man was there when his mother was killed and obviously was on Montparnasse’s side more than his, but after the way the giant man had killed the guy who raped him all those years ago… he had nothing but trust and respect for the man. 

He was not much of a conversationalist, however. 

“I just don’t know how I feel,” Jehan was saying, laying on the bed while Gueulemer sat on a tiny stool listening to him. “I mean, she was a total bitch, but she was my _mom_ , you know? And what am I even going to do now that she’s gone?” 

Gueulemer grunted noncommittally. 

“I mean, I can do anything I want, but I’m only really good at prostituting. Honestly it’s kind of fun once you get over everything shitty about it.” Jehan continued. 

Gueulemer nodded a little. 

“And before you tell me to forgive Montparnasse, it’s not going to happen. Not for a while at least. He’s an absolute asshole and I only accept bribery in the form of baked goods.” Jehan joked, “But in all seriousness, I want him to feel bad. For what he did. Because she was my mom.” 

Gueulemer seemed to be looking at the specks of dust floating in the sunlight from a window. 

Jehan sighed. Why did he even bother talking to this guy? He never said anything. “Ah Gueulemer. You know how much I love our talks, but I’m going to have to kick you out for now. I want to sleep.” 

Gueulemer sat there for a moment, as though he hadn’t been paying attention. He looked at Jehan, who was giving him a pointed look, and got up, leaving Jehan in peace. 

…

The next day, when Gueulemer came in with what was supposed to be Jehan’s lunch, he was holding a plate with a huge piece of cake. 

The cake said, in blood-red, drippy icing, “I feel bad”. Jehan stared at it, and then looked back up at Gueulemer in surprise. He didn’t know the man actually paid attention to what he was saying. 

“Is this from Montparnasse?” Jehan asked. 

Gueulemer nodded.

Jehan got an idea. “Tell him that this is nice and all, but I will only accept an apology in a written letter format.” 

Gueulemer nodded and Jehan talked to him more, as normal. 

… 

The next day, Gueulemer received a letter from Montparnasse, delivered by Gueulemer. It read:

_Jehan,_

_Sorry I killed your mom. I didn’t mean to. Okay, I kind of meant to. But if I’d have known she was your mother I might have tried to work something out. Okay, I probably wouldn’t have. But still, I am sorry. You should forgive me._

_Montparnasse_

Jehan held in his laughter and nodded seriously at the letter. 

“Gueulemer, please tell Montparnasse that I’ll only accept his apology in the form of flowers.”

…

This went on for five more days. Over the course of those days, he received flowers, a book of poems from Thenardiers, a human skull (Jehan actually had no idea how the man got it), a new radio, and a tiny potted cactus. 

On the sixth day, Montparnasse banged on his door. 

“Jean Prouvaire, open this door!” 

“Make me!” Jehan yelled back. 

“You can’t still be mad! That woman was a bitch, you’re better off without her!”

“That’s my _mother_ you’re talking about!” 

“She pimped you out!” 

“So?” 

“She tried to sell you to the man who was going to kill her!” 

“Yeah? And? She was still my mom!” 

“Well now she’s dead.” Montparnasse said, “And you need to get on with your life. Accept my apology or get out of my house.” 

Jehan paused. This little thing, this game he’d been playing with Montparnasse had been distracting him from his grief and fear of what he was going to do with his life. He sighed and opened the door. 

“Oh thank god.” Montparnasse said, “I really didn’t want to make Gueulemer break down the door.” He pulled Jehan into a surprise hug. 

“What?” Jehan asked. 

“Sorry I killed your mom.” Montparnasse said for what must have been the millionth time. “Also, you need a shower.” 

“Apology accepted.” Jehan said after a moment.

Jehan pushed the man off of him and headed for the one bathroom of the house with a shower. Montparnasse sighed. 

… 

For a month Jehan continued to act angry with Montparnasse, but eventually it all faded away. Jehan became friends with the man, went back to prostitution, and decided to start an experiment. He was going to try to seduce Montparnasse. 

He wasn’t going to be over the top about it. Not yet. That’s where this became a challenge, see when he was streetwalking he _knew_ that these people were here to have some down and dirty fun, but he was never sure about Montparnasse. The man was in charge of a bunch of prostitutes (a side job from Thenardier) and while Jehan had always been safe (he used protection and took the costly drugs to keep diseases at bay), Montparnasse took it to a new level, even showing a little disdain for the people who put themselves in those situations.

Therefore, it was hard to get a read on the man. Eponine, his fourteen year old friend who visited every moment she could get away from her parents, had confided in him that she had a crush on him, knew it was not unfounded because she’d seen him go sleep with a girl before. She also confided that she’d seen him sleep with boys before, which served to raise Jehan’s hopes as well. 

Eponine had been a great friend to him in these months. Jehan, though he very much enjoyed Montparnasse’s company, did get a little uneasy around the man, and around the rest of the Patron-Minette from time to time. They also pretended to hate each other, which served to confuse their friends to no end. 

A year went by. Nothing exceptional happened. Jehan’s life continued relatively normally, except for how he now had friends, rent, money, and less of a chance of being slapped. However, near Jehan’s seventeenth birthday, Marius came to live with them. 

…

“Why are you hitting on Marius?” Jehan demanded from Montparnasse’s bed, where he had been lounging in a semi-seductive pose. His plan to slowly seduce Montparnasse had seemed to be working, but Marius had thrown a wrench in his plan. 

Marius had kind of just stumbled into their life, and how he lived across the hall from Jehan. He did their accounting and didn’t actually seem to want to know all of the inner workings of everything. He must have been from the city, he seemed a little naive.

However, the kid was hot. In like, a dorky way. And he was seventeen, which Montparnasse considered “not cradle robbing”. Montparnasse had made it his personal goal to get in his new accountant’s pants. 

This, of course, made Jehan and Marius enemies. Marius didn’t seem to notice. 

“I can hit on whoever I want.” Montparnasse said, flopping down on the bed next to Jehan and ruining his carefully crafted, careless pose. Jehan sighed. 

“My birthday is next week.” He reminded Montparnasse. 

“Congrats.” Montparnasse said into his pillow.

“What are you gonna get me?” Jehan asked.

“My charming personality?” 

“I mean, all I really wanted was your dick, but I guess that will do.” Jehan said, hopping off the bed and blowing him a kiss, before retreating to his room. 

…

Two day later, Jehan cornered Marius. They were in Marius’s bedroom and the kid honestly seemed kind of intimidated? Jehan was amazed, no one in this house had ever been scared of him. It was kind of a rush. 

“So, uh… not to be rude or anything, but why are you in my room?” Marius asked. 

Jehan played with the pages of some notebook, before half-glaring at Marius. The kid took a sharp breath in fear. Jehan loved it. 

“I just wanted to warn you.” Jehan said, “To stay away from Montparnasse.”

Marius looked confused, but more fear showed in his eyes. “Wait, why? Is he mad? Does he have a hit on me?” 

No, he’s just hitting on you. “Yes.” Jehan said, just to be an asshole, and he left the room. 

…

A few days passed and it was finally Jehan’s birthday. He’d been waiting, perfecting his act. Hell, he even practiced what he was going to do the night before on one of his customers. It was all ready. 

During the day, he acted more over the top sexual to Montparnasse, who gave up his new favorite pastime (lamenting how Marius was avoiding him) to stare. 

When he woke up, Jehan had taken special care to “forget” his favorite shirt in Montparnasse’s room, walking in in only boxers to wake the man up so he could help him look. Then he proceeded to drop the shirt so he’d have to bend down in front of Montparnasse to pick it up. The older man’s speech had stuttered and he forgot what he was talking about mid sentence. It was working. 

At lunch, Gueulemer had given Jehan his present, a box of candy. Jehan had found a lollipop and Montparnasse had had to leave the room. 

After dinner, when Marius had shut himself into his room and Eponine had gone home for the night after giving him a purple scarf as a present, Jehan decided that Montparnasse was never going to make a move and he had to take matters into his own hands. 

The rest of the Patron-Minette was in the room, eating some birthday cake. Jehan nodded twice at Gueulemer, who he’d asked to clear the room when given the signal. The man stared blankly back at him for a moment, before picking up Babet and Claquesous’s unfinished cake plates and walking away with them, making the other two follow him demanding to know what the fuck his problem was. 

Montparnasse looked at him questioningly after everyone had left, but Jehan just shrugged before getting up and walking over to Montparnasse’s seat. He sat down on Montparnasse’s lap, straddling him. 

He leaned forward, his lips brushing the man’s ear as he spoke. “You want to know what I wished for?” 

“If you tell me, it won’t come true.” Montparnasse said, tripping over his words a little. Jehan grinned. 

“Well, that all depends on you.” He purred. He rocked forward just a little bit, and he heard Montparnasse’s sharp intake of breath. “So do you want to know what I wished for?” 

“Yes.” Montparnasse said, desperate. Jehan licked the shell of his ear. 

“I want you inside me all night, fucking me until I can’t walk.” Jehan said, “And after I can’t take it anymore I want to suck you off until you’re screaming for me to stop, that you can’t get it up anymore. And then we can get into the _really_ kinky shit.”

Montparnasse shuddered. Jehan drew away from his ear, before leaning in and kissing him. He let Montparnasse dominate the kiss, let the man lift him up onto the table. Montparnasse got up from his chair and leaning over him, not breaking the kiss. 

They got far enough for Jehan to be lying on the table, Montparnasse’s hand down his pants, when Jehan realized that he had not intended them to have sex on his birthday cake. 

“Babe.” He gasped when Montparnasse drew away from his mouth to kiss his neck, “Maybe we should go to the bedroom.”

“It’s so far away.” Montparnasse complained against his skin. 

“I know.” Jehan said sympathetically, “But it’ll be easier for you to fuck me on the bed.” 

Montparnasse didn’t sound convinced. Jehan had an idea. 

“I mean, you don’t want the others to come back and get any ideas, right?” Jehan paused to let out a whimper of pain as Montparnasse worked on a hickey. “I mean, they might want a chance with me.” 

Montparnasse drew back, lust clouding his eyes. “You’re mine.” He said, capturing Jehan’s lips in a kiss. 

They moved their activities to the bedroom. Not that it helped the others, they could hear it all night. 

…

The next day, when Jehan gathered the motivation to walk further than to the bathroom, he ran into Marius. 

“Hey sweetie!” He said cheerfully, waving a little. 

“Uh, hi Jehan!” Marius said, awkwardly waving. 

“Oh, by the way. Montparnasse doesn’t have a hit out on you, you can totally talk to him.” 

“Oh thank god, that’s a relief.” Marius said, “Wait, why did he have a hit out on me in the first place?” 

“He didn’t.” Jehan answered, “He just wanted to get in your pants.” 

“Oh.” Marius said, sounding a little taken aback. “Wow, that’s new. I’m not into guys though, so I guess it was a lost cause.” 

“Yeah.” Jehan agreed, still smiling. “Oh, and Marius?” 

“Yeah?” 

“If you ever sleep with him I just want you to know that I’ll rip your balls off and feed them to you.” Jehan said, still just as cheerful. 

“Uh…” Marius looked scared once more, taking a step back. “No need to worry?” 

“Good!” Jehan grinned, “I like you Marius. We should be friends.” 

…

Months passed. Montparnasse made Jehan quit being a prostitute. He claimed it was because of diseases and he didn’t want Jehan to get hurt, but Jehan knew it was because the man was jealous. So Jehan joined the Patron-Minette and started acting as the Thenardier’s and Tomorrow Comes’ errand boy. 

It turned out that, while Jehan was good with a gun and great at lying on missions, he didn’t really have the heart for it. He despised the Thenardier’s enterprises and he distrusted Tomorrow Comes. More often than not, he was left at home to “guard” the place. 

He grew bored. So he became better friends with Marius and Eponine, depending on them for entertainment. It turned out that Marius balanced out their friend group perfectly, distracting him and Eponine from getting too bitchy with each other. Things went great for a while. 

That’s when Marius met Cosette

…

“She’s just so beautiful.” Marius sighed. Jehan shot Eponine a look. After he had “stolen” her last love interest, he’d been trying to lowkey set her up with Marius, as she had a crush on him and he felt sort of bad. 

“Is she?” Eponine asked, rolling her eyes. “You hadn’t mentioned.” 

“Oh no, you guys probably think I’m in love with her because of her looks! That’s not a reason to fall in love.” Marius said, sounding distressed. 

“I mean that’s why I’m with Parnasse.” Jehan commented. Eponine snickered. 

“She’s just so nice too.” Marius sighed as if Jehan hadn’t spoken. 

“You need to stop.” Eponine said. 

“Yeah, you’re grossing us out with your heterosexuality.” Jehan chimed in. 

“Fine.” Marius huffed.

“So.” Eponine said, turning to Jehan, “What was so urgent.” 

Oh right. Jehan had called them together so he could complain about his love life, but they’d gotten sidetracked listening to Marius talk about that girl he’d been talking to every day near Thenardiers’. 

Jehan loved Montparnasse. He really did. It was a weird mix between residual hero worship and a power trip and Jehan loved it. But lately, Montparnasse had been distant. He’d been flirting with other people and Jehan suspected he was cheating. To be clear, Jehan could not have cared less if he was having sex with other people, that was fine. However, Montparnasse had forbidden Jehan from doing that, so Jehan was just interested in the fairness of the whole affair. 

“I just missed your beautiful face.” Jehan said, stroking her cheek. She batted it away. 

“Whatever, you guys are losers. Let me tell you a _real_ story.” She said, and she launched into the events of some illegal dealing, taking Jehan’s mind off of everything. 

… 

Some kids had escaped the city and fled to the desert. It was big news for some reason, probably because they were followed by like fifty more teenagers, all trying to get the fuck away from the city. Jehan never really cared. 

About a month or so after the main wave of kids, two boys were looking for the rebels. Jehan encountered them once, told them everything he could (he didn't want these two kids left in the desert without any shelter) and let them crash at a place the Patron Minette used as a front sometimes. Montparnasse disapproved, but didn't kick them out. 

Joly and Bossuet, those were their names, stayed for a few days, then went off again to look for the fabled Amis. Jehan was actually a little sad to see them go, he'd liked their jokes and how they brought some levity to his life in a way that wasn't morbid or weird. They took his mind off of Montparnasse.

…

Ignoring a problem did not make it go away. Jehan desperately wanted Montparnasse to just realize the error in his ways and maybe propose a threesome or something to make up for everything. No such thing happened, and halfway through their second year together Jehan snapped. 

He was left alone all the time. Eponine’s parents had decided she was old enough to go on more and more missions, to help out the family business and Marius spent every free moment at Jean Valjean’s bunker with Cosette. He wouldn’t even tell Jehan where it was (“I promised my future father-in-law that I wouldn’t tell”), so Jehan couldn’t even bother him when he was bored. 

This would be fine (not really fine, but less not-fine) if Montparnasse paid any attention to Jehan. They never seemed to talk anymore, their relationship was only physical. Tomorrow Comes had decided that the Patron-Minette was a bigger asset than they previously thought, and they were sending them out on more and more high profile missions in the wastelands, meaning that Montparnasse was rarely home. 

The breaking point was when Jehan found a hickey on Montparnasse’s chest that he knew he hadn’t put there. When he asked about it, Montparnasse had said that he needed information out of some girl and that he needed to seduce her for it. Jehan didn’t believe it. 

So he started prostituting. It wasn’t nearly as often as he used to, and now he had to do it during the day. He got Gueulemer to get him what he needed to go about it safely without telling Montparnasse. He got all the affection and fun he needed from his customers. Who needed friends or lovers when you had money? 

…

“We’ve got to leave the city.” Enjolras said, the first day of school when they were back in their closet. Combeferre shot Courfeyrac a look. 

“I mean, that was the plan.” Courfeyrac said, raising an eyebrow. His friends had been acting weird. Combeferre was so much more focused now and his morals seemed… askew. And Enjolras was way more angry and determined. 

“By next summer.” Enjolras clarified. “If we wait too long one of us will be discovered for not taking our pills or something.” 

Courfeyrac winced. He figured that he embodied the “or something”. 

“How are we going to get the supplies for that?” Combeferre asked. Bless the voice of reason. 

“Well, you have a job. I thought maybe Courfeyrac and I could get jobs too and we could pool our money together. There are supplies in the wastelands, it’s not like we’re going to have to forage for food or anything. Residents live out there.” Enjolras reasoned, crossing his arms. 

Courfeyrac looked at Combeferre. Combeferre shrugged. 

“Sounds good to me.” Courfeyrac said. 

And that’s how he ended up stocking shelves in the local supermarket for the entirety of his senior year. 

…

Courfeyrac didn’t really remember graduation or the dinner afterwards too well. What he did remember was the night after. 

“Courfeyrac.” His mother said, calling him to the living room, “We need to talk to you.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, sitting down across from them. His parents exchanged a look. 

“We want you to know that we’re proud of you, son.” His father said, patting his shoulder. “Whatever you do with your life, we’ll be proud of you.” 

“And we love you.” His mom added. 

“You’ve always been such a good kid. And we know that you’ll grow into a good man, no matter what.” His father continued. 

“And we love you.” His mother added again. 

“And we love you.” His father echoed. 

“Guys, you know there’s only one thing I’m going to do with my life.” Courfeyrac lied. He had been given a job, set to start in a month and a half. His father smiled, it seemed sad though. 

“We know.” He said, “But we wanted you to know that.” 

Courfeyrac took a deep breath. He wanted to tell his parents that he was leaving, he wanted to tell them that he loved them and to thank them for everything they’d done for him. But he didn’t know how they’d react, he could never be sure. 

“I love you guys too.”

…

The next morning, after he’d put all the supplies in his car, he found his mother’s necklace (which he’d returned to her room during the last summer) on his bed. It was a locket. Inside, rather than the baby picture of himself and the hilarious photo of his father with a moustache, there was a picture of his parents, and a tiny note that read “And we love you”. 

…

After a week of waiting, they finally left. Courfeyrac figured that Enjolras knew something he didn’t about the guards, and that’s why they waited. Combeferre didn’t seem to know either, and Courfeyrac figured that it didn’t matter. 

Bahorel and Feuilly joined them, followed by more and more people. Apparently their escape was a popular story, especially in the North Sectors. 

This meant more mouths to feed and more people to nurse through withdrawal. After they found the hotel, when a good amount of their people were in constant sickness, Courfeyrac went out on a mission to try and find something to help, he couldn’t just sit there and listen to people throw up all day. He’d had enough of that during his own withdrawal. 

He ended up getting chased into an alley by an Operative. And in that alley, there was the single hottest person Courfeyrac had ever laid eyes on. 

He had long, red hair curled loosely around his face, his bangs too long, falling into his eyes. He was wearing huge, pink boots and a red shirt and shorts, clashing horribly.

“Help.” Courfeyrac said desperately. He could see the Operative’s boots from around the weird wall he was hiding behind and this alley was a dead end. There was no escape. 

The beautiful boy turned resolutely and walked towards the Operative. 

“Where did that kid go?” The Operative asked. 

“Kid? What kid?” The boy asked. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, you slut.” The Op snarled. Courfeyrac frowned. Aside from the comment being _fucking rude_ he was surprised to hear the man talk like that. Operatives weren’t supposed to have emotions. 

“I’d watch my tone.” The boy said, his voice cold. “I’m part of the Patron-Minette. You’re interrupting.” 

The man paused. “If you see him, alert an Operative.” He said, and retreated. 

Courfeyrac listened as the clack of the boy’s boots drew closer, until he was in view again. 

“Coast is clear.” He said, “I’m Jehan, by the way.” 

“Courfeyrac.” Courfeyrac said. “Thank you so much. I thought I was a goner.” 

“Courfeyrac.” Jehan said, sounding out the name, “I’ve heard that before. Are you one of those crazy rebels?” 

“Crazy rebels, that’s us.” Courfeyrac said, grinning, “I’ve heard of the Patron-Minette, I thought you worked with Tomorrow Comes.” 

“Well, my boyfriend does.” Jehan said with a shrug. “I don’t.”

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Courfeyrac asked. He totally wasn’t going to challenge the man in a duel for Jehan. That would be absurd. 

“Montparnasse.” Jehan said casually, as if he hadn’t just casually name-dropped the most powerful crime boss in the wastelands. 

“Wow.” Courfeyrac said, because really, what do you say to that? “And he sent you out to turn tricks?” 

Courfeyrac may not have been in the desert for long, but he wasn’t an idiot. 

Jehan shrugged, “My choice. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He paused. “It just gets a little lonely around the house. I get left alone there a lot.” 

Courfeyrac nodded. It always sucked to not have anything to do. “Hey, we could hang out if you wanted. The Amis don’t need me all the time, we’ve got plenty of people and I have loads of free time.” 

Jehan considered this. He wasn’t really sure why he’d admitted his loneliness to a near stranger, but this guy just had this enthusiasm about him… it made Jehan just want to be his best friend. Also, he hadn’t been rude about the hooker thing, which was pretty new. 

“Sure.” He said, “There’s a park where they hold concerts every once in awhile, you know the place?” 

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac nodded.

“Good, let’s meet there at noon.” Jehan said. He didn’t want to give up the location of the strip club just yet. 

“I’ll be there.” 

…

Their first meeting at the park went great, so Jehan and Courfeyrac met up again the next day. And again the next day. And the next day. Soon, their meetings were part of their daily routine.

One day, however, there was a sand storm. Courfeyrac frowned at the desert. He wished he had some way to communicate with Jehan, some way to tell him he wasn’t going to be there. All he could imagine, though, was Jehan sitting in his skimpy clothing, waiting for Courfeyrac to show up, getting burned by the sand. He couldn’t have that. 

So Courfeyrac stole the most body-covering clothes he could find from his friends (he’d return them later), some goggles from Combeferre’s makeshift lab, and drove out into the desert. 

He waited on the bench, trying to ignore the way the sand hit every sliver of uncovered skin, and sure enough, Jehan showed up, covered like him.

“Hey.” Jehan yelled over the wind, “Do you want to talk in your car?” 

“Sure!” Courfeyrac responded. Once they were in the car, Jehan pulled back his hood and shook his head, making all the sand fall from his braid and applying some shiny chapstick.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” Jehan asked. Courfeyrac tore his gaze away from the man’s lips. 

“Sure.” Courfeyrac said, and they drove, Jehan directing him. 

They got there and Jehan let him park in the garage. They went inside and he gave Courfeyrac the big tour. He neglected to show him Marius’s room, he figured the man wouldn’t want them to look through his stuff (not that Jehan _hadn’t_ looked through his stuff by now.)

They sat down on Jehan’s bed. This was a new thing for Jehan, he’d never picked up a random guy on the street and brought him home to _not_ have sex with him. But he didn’t want Courfeyrac to be a lame one night stand, or someone that he had to hide from Montparnasse. He actually liked the guy and wanted them to be friends. 

Also he figured that if he had sex with Courfeyrac there was a chance Montparnasse would actually, literally kill him. And Jehan also liked having Courfeyrac alive. 

“So.” Courfeyrac said, “How’d you end up in the Patron-Minette?” 

“How’d you end up with the Amis?” Jehan countered. He didn’t think the horror story of his mother’s death was suitable for this situation. 

“Oh, it’s kind of a boring story.” Courfeyrac said, “I never reacted well with the meds, and neither did my friends, so we just left the city because we didn’t want to get sent to the facility for reconditioning.”

“I thought there was some noble cause behind all of it.” Jehan said. He’d heard stories of the rebels killing Operatives and helping out the non-legal citizens that didn’t have enough supplies to get by. Courfeyrac shrugged. 

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac said. “Enjolras wants to make the world a better place. He didn’t have that much of a goal when we were leaving the city, though. It was more of a self preservation thing. There are way more interesting stories out there than mine.” 

“Then tell me one of those.” Jehan said, reclining onto the bed. Those seemed to be the magic words, because Courfeyrac launched into a story about how his friend Angelica apparently took down three Operatives as she scaled a wall. 

Halfway through the story, Marius burst into the room. “Jehan, what-” He looked, seeing Courfeyrac. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“Calm down, Marius. This is just my friend Courfeyrac.” Jehan said, rolling his eyes. 

“Courfeyrac?” 

…

Courfeyrac and Marius hit it off great as friends, and Jehan was absolutely _not_ jealous in any way. He really _wasn’t_ upset that Marius (the kid who’d been all but ignoring him for months!) was stealing his new friend. 

Jehan started inviting Courfeyrac over more and more. They talked all the time, light stories about Jehan’s customers or Courfeyrac’s friends bleeding into heavy conversations about their families, their close friends, about theoretical things they’d do if Tomorrow Comes didn’t exist. 

They also had the same taste in fashion. Courfeyrac seemed to love colors because of how deprived he was in the city and Jehan loved them because he could. They started to share clothes. 

…

“Fuck, marry, kill: Eponine, Marius, and Marius’ girlfriend.” Courfeyrac said, laying halfway off the bed, his head almost touching the ground. 

“That’s easy,” Jehan said, “I’d kill Marius’s girlfriend, first off.” 

“Hey.” Marius squeaked from the corner, “Rude.” 

“Then, I’d fuck-”

“Me.” A man that Courfeyrac had never seen before said from the doorway. The man was in a black leather coat and a frown. 

“Hey baby.” Jehan said casually. “This is Courfeyrac. I found him on the street, can we keep him?” 

“I’ve picked up enough strays, I think.” Montparnasse said as Courfeyrac sat up. “I’m Montparnasse.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Courfeyrac said. 

“Jehan, can I have a word with you in my room?” The man asked. Courfeyrac looked at Jehan, who looked unphased, and then at Marius. Marius looked just as confused as he was. 

The two left the room. 

“Is he in trouble?” Courfeyrac asked, “He’s allowed to have friends, right?” 

“I don’t know.” Marius admitted, “Montparnasse’s weird sometimes.” 

…

“First I find out that you’ve been selling yourself again and now you bring one of them into my _house_?” Montparnasse hissed. Jehan was sitting on the bed, his arms crossed. 

“Parnasse, you’ve been sleeping around the whole time!” Jehan protested. 

“Not for money!” 

“You’ve never had a problem with me being a prostitute before we started dating!” 

“Yeah, I did! You’re too young!” 

“I am eighteen years old, Montparnasse.” Jehan said, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh wow, so mature.” Montparnasse said sarcastically, rolling his eyes back at Jehan. 

“Besides.” Jehan said, “Courfeyrac isn’t like that. He’s really just my friend.” 

“See that he stays that way and we won’t have a problem.” Montparnasse said, “And stop selling yourself.” 

And with that, Montparnasse swept from the room, leaving Jehan to seethe in peace. 

… 

When Courfeyrac had first arrived in the desert, Jean Valjean had answered a great deal of his questions. There were the general ones about rebellion, life in the desert, whatever. It wasn’t until Valjean made the mistake of answering one of Courfeyrac’s more personal questions, that the man became Courfeyrac’s walking Encyclopedia. 

“Valjean, I have a question.” Courfeyrac had said. 

“Yes?” Valjean had asked patiently. 

“Is there a word out here in the desert for someone who likes girls and boys? Because I know I like boys, I really, really know, but sometimes I like girls too? And if you knew a word for that…” Courfeyrac rambled, hoping that he wasn’t just some weird defective person and that Valjean wouldn’t look at him like he was insane. 

“Courf, there is a word for that.” Valjean said, “Bisexual. And you’re allowed to like whoever you want to like.” 

Courfeyrac’s eyes had lit up and when he said “Thanks, Dad!” Valjean knew, somehow he knew, that there was worse to come. 

…

Valjean suffered through many questions, from explaining how exactly gay sex worked, to every weird joke Courfeyrac heard from Jehan. He walked into the bunker one day, stopping to chat with Marius before continuing on his path to get his question answered. 

“Dad!” He called, “I have a question, Jehan was talking and I don’t know what-” He looked at Combeferre, who was standing and talking to Valjean. They must have been discussing something science or wasteland-history related. “Oh hey Ferre.” 

“I’ll talk to Marius.” Combeferre said, nodding at Courfeyrac before leaving the room. 

“Anyways.” Courfeyrac said, turning back to Valjean, “I was wondering, what is a butt plug? I mean the name is kind of self explanatory, so I think I have the basic concept. Okay, let me rephrase my question: why?” 

Valjean sighed. 

…

Montparnasse and Jehan’s relationship grew more strained, though Montparnasse didn’t seem to mind Courfeyrac at all, seeming to even enjoy his presence. Courfeyrac privately disliked the man, but he knew better than to externalize those feelings. 

Marius left the Patron-Minette three months after Courfeyrac had entered their lives, moving in with Cosette and Valjean. Jehan would have been more upset if Courfeyrac wasn’t there to hang out with him all the time. Eponine hung out with him all the time still, but she only seemed to come around when Courfeyrac wasn’t there. 

After a while, Courfeyrac had taken Jehan back to the Amis’ base and they hung out there often afterwards. Marius had liked it a lot and eventually ended up joining. Jehan and Courfeyrac frequented sparring matches held at night in the hotel, and Jehan made friends with Bahorel and Feuilly over a bet.

Jehan was lying on his bed, after Courfeyrac left, snuggled into the pillow that Courfeyrac liked best, when he realized he was kind of in love with the other man. When had that happened? 

He frowned into his pillow. He couldn’t be in love with him. It wasn’t right, he just wanted to be friends, like he was with Marius and Eponine. That’s all Courfeyrac was. A good friend who told terrible jokes who had a great smile, and sometimes when he laughed his dimples showed and Jehan just couldn’t deal with it, but he really wanted to see them all the time, and… 

Yeah. He was in love. 

But he loved Montparnasse! Jehan stood up, throwing the pillow back on the bed and headed for Montparnasse’s room. The man had exiled him to his own bed for a week after some petty argument, but Jehan couldn’t care about that now, he needed to reassure himself. 

“Parnasse.” He said, opening the door to his lover’s room and crawling on the bed. “Parnasse, I have a question.” 

“Yeah?” Montparnasse asked sleepily, frowning in irritation. 

“You love me, right?” Jehan asked, his hand on Montparnasse’s arm, where he had shaken the man awake. 

“I love you when you’re on your knees for me, baby.” Montparnasse said, pulling Jehan down and stealing a sleepy, sloppy kiss. Jehan pulled away. 

“I know, babe, but you love me aside from that, right?” He asked. Montparnasse stilled under his hand. The man threw his arm over his eyes. 

“You really want to talk about this right now?” Montparnasse asked. 

“It’s a yes or no question.” Jehan said, filled with dread and hope at the same time. 

Montparnasse sighed. He slowly let his arm fall from his face. The moment seemed to last forever, Jehan was sure he was going to die of suffocation, but he couldn’t seem to get a real breath. 

“No.” Montparnasse said. “I don’t love you like that.” 

“Oh.” Jehan said softly, retracting his hand. Montparnasse caught it. 

“Jean… I don’t love you, but you’re still mine, right? You’re mine.” 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” Jehan said, taking his hand away again. “You said that.” 

“Jean…” Montparnasse said, seeming to realize the error in his words, but Jehan was already walking away. The man turned back at Montparnasse, glaring. 

“Don’t call me that.” He said, and he left the room. 

…

“So I think I’m going to break up with Montparnasse.” Jehan said when Courfeyrac got to his room a few days later. 

“Oh?” Courfeyrac asked, trying to sound disinterested and cool, but managing to trip over the bed while he said it. It was alright though, tripping externally did nothing to stop the victory dance going on inside his head. 

“Yeah.” Jehan said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about your little rebel group. It sounds like a lot of fun, and I won’t have a place after we break up-” 

“Yes.” Courfeyrac interrupted him, before internally slapping his forehead. He was not being calm and cool, why did he have to act like Marius all of the sudden?

Jehan giggled. “I haven’t even asked yet.” 

“Sorry.” Courfeyrac said, “I’m just excited that you’ll be living with us.” 

“Yeah.” Jehan said, taking Courfeyrac’s hand. Courfeyrac’s heart leapt. “I’m a little worried. I don’t want Parnasse to be sad.” 

“I mean, losing someone like you is bound to make anyone sad.” Courfeyrac commented. 

“Yeah, but he saved me once. I kind of feel like I owe him.” Jehan said, frowning. 

“Wait, I thought he killed your mom?” Courfeyrac asked, confused. 

“Oh yeah. He saved me twice then, I guess.” Jehan said, only further confusing Courfeyrac. He’d have to ask Jehan for his full tragic backstory someday. “But that’s not really a reason to stay with someone.” 

“That’s true.” Courfeyrac said, as though he had any experience in the slightest. “Do you love him?” 

“I thought I did. But I don’t think he loves me.” Jehan sighed. “I think I need to break up with him and spend time away, maybe then I’ll figure out if I love him or not.” 

“That’s a good plan.” Courfeyrac said, “I can ask Angelica if she wants to move rooms, she wanted to be closer to a bathroom anyways.” 

“I’d love to share a room with you, Fey.” Jehan said, smiling. Courfeyrac grinned stupidly, no one had ever called him that before. 

…

Jehan slowly started flirting with Courfeyrac. He’d always been flirty in that over-the-top friend way, he acted the same around Marius and Eponine, but he wanted to get it right with Courfeyrac. This wasn’t a teenage crush turned into a challenge, like Montparnasse. This was something entirely new. 

He broke up with Montparnasse on their anniversary, his birthday. He’d had a great day with Marius and Courfeyrac at the Amis’ hotel, and Eponine had come by to tell him he was being lame for not being around more and to bring him a present. 

The breakup wasn’t the way he expected it to be. He expected screaming or coldness and he got neither. 

“You’re sure you want to break up?” Montparnasse asked, birthday cake on a fork halfway to his mouth. 

“I’m sure.” Jehan said, nodding. 

“We were going to have kinky anniversary sex.” Montparnasse said, as though trying to bribe him. Jehan laughed. 

“I know.” He said, “But I just… I don’t want to be with you if you don’t love me.” 

“That’s fair.” Montparnasse said, “I guess I can return your anniversary present.” 

“Oh hell no, I got you something too so we still get presents.” Jehan said, grinning a little. 

“Oh good, I don’t think I could pay Thenardier to take back this freak of nature.” Montparnasse said, smiling back and handing Jehan some particularly atrocious purple and yellow plaid shorts. 

…

“Even though you’re not dating me, I want you to promise not to sell yourself.” Montparnasse said out of the blue the next day. Jehan looked at him, a brow raised. “If not for my sake, for that new boy of yours.”

“I don’t have a new-” Jehan began to protest, but Montparnasse held up his hand, asking him to stop. 

“I know what you’re going to say, save it. But I want you to know, I could handle seeing you all beat up and bloody in an alley, but that kid? Not a chance. He’d have an emotional meltdown.” The man said seriously. 

This was probably the closest Montparnasse ever came to addressing the rape incident since Jehan came to live with him. Jehan swallowed, not wanting to think about it, but unable to stop. What if Courfeyrac was the one to find him like that next time? What if it was worse? He couldn’t stand the thought. 

“I promise.” He said. Montparnasse nodded. 

…

Montparnasse offered to continue to let Jehan live with him, but Jehan turned him down. He said he’d be out by the end of the week, he just wanted to make sure he packed all his stuff.

Courfeyrac assured him that he told Enjolras that Jehan was going to join the Amis, that he wasn’t going to be just coming out of nowhere and demanding a place to sleep. Despite the fact that Jehan had been coming there for months. 

A week went by and Courfeyrac spent an entire day helping Jehan pack up his baby, they were going to bring him to the base. 

“Oh shit, I forgot to tell Enjolras you’d be coming today.” Courfeyrac sighed, “He’s gonna yell at me about beds or something.” 

“I thought I was getting Angelica’s bed?” Jehan asked, confused. 

“She actually hasn’t moved out of the room quite yet.” Courfeyrac admitted. “She’ll be out within the week, but she’s moving where someone else was, and they’re moving where someone else was, so it’s this whole chain reaction.” 

“Oh. So I guess we’ll be sharing a bed tonight?” Jehan asked, grinning at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac laughed. 

“Yeah I guess so.” This was shaping up to be a pretty good day. 

They drove for a while, not talking about anything really important, when Courfeyrac saw smoke in the distance. Or was it dust? 

“What?” He asked, squinting, “What’s that?” 

Jehan craned his neck. He couldn’t really tell. He shrugged. 

“I guess we’ll find out.” Courfeyrac said, though his voice was laced with worry. Jehan took his hand, rubbing it a little. What was going on? 

They drew closer and saw a tall pile of rubble where the hotel had once stood. 

“Where… where’s the hotel?” Courfeyrac asked faintly. His heart was racing, this couldn’t be, this had to be some kind of joke. A plot to send Tomorrow Comes off their scent. 

“Sweetie.” Jehan said softly, “I think that is the hotel.” 

He reached up to touch his necklace, a constant reminder that things would be okay. It wasn’t there, he must have left it in the room that morning. 

If this really was a ploy to get Tomorrow Comes off their trail, Courfeyrac was going to kill someone for not letting him know or saving his necklace. After he hugged the shit out of all seventy five people that lived there. 

He drove right up as close as he could without hitting any rubble, throwing the car into park before it had really stopped, making them lurch forward. He didn’t ask if Jehan was alright, running out of the car to go see what was happening. He had to make sure everyone was alright. 

Enjolras was running towards him, his arm hanging oddly. He launched himself at Courfeyrac, hugging him with one arm. 

“What happened?” He asked, looking at the building rather than his friends. Where was everyone? He’d have thought if their house fell down, everyone would be looking at it. Maybe… maybe they were going to get help. That made sense. 

Combeferre was moving towards him slowly. It was weird, as though he couldn’t find his way in broad daylight. Courfeyrac would have to ask Valjean about that, Valjean would know what was up. Jehan was standing at his side, when had he gotten there? 

Enjolras buried his face in Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re alive.” He said, “So I can KILL YOU.” 

“What?” Courfeyrac looked at him, more concerned than before. What was Enjolras talking about? Everyone was fine, right? 

“You didn’t tell anyone where you were.” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac was a little confused. He thought Combeferre was still picking through the rubble. Everyone was moving so fast. 

“We thought you were DEAD.” Enjolras all but yelled, but Courfeyrac couldn’t feel too bad about it. Actually, all he was feeling was confusion. 

Combeferre wrapped his arms around them both, seemingly relieved for the same strange reason Enjolras was. The moment was broken by Enjolras gasping in pain. 

“What?” Combeferre asked backing up and squinting at Enjolras, “Why aren’t you using your arm?” 

Enjolras and Combeferre bickered about his arm for a moment, but Courfeyrac’s attention was placed on the rubble. He still didn’t know what had happened

“What’s going on?” Courfeyrac asked again, still looking at the wreckage. Enjolras and Combeferre fell silent for a moment. 

“Tomorrow Comes bombed us.” Combeferre explained, walking with Enjolras. Courfeyrac and Jehan followed, Courfeyrac ripping his eyes from the horrific scene. “So far, with you guys, there’s only twenty four of us.” 

“Where’s Marius?” Courfeyrac asked, looking around for his friend. Jehan would kill him if he let anything happen to that dork. “He got out alright, right?” 

“He’s at Valjean’s.” Enjolras said. 

“Where’s Stephan? And Vincent and Angelica and Jacob? And Marcus?” Courfeyrac was looking around. He saw one of those people among the wounded, but most of them were missing, where were they? Were they hiding or something? Did they quit the Amis? “Where is everyone?” 

“Babe.” Jehan said, catching his attention. He turned wild eyes on the beautiful ginger, as if asking him for the answers, “They were still inside.” 

Courfeyrac’s heart dropped. No, that couldn’t be. His friends were all there that morning, they had to be there, they had to be fine. He ran towards the rubble. Enjolras and Combeferre weren’t looking hard enough, that was all. He could find them, he knew he could. And they’d all be together again at a new hotel and Courfeyrac would stop skipping events to hang out with Jehan because Jehan would be there with them and he could spend all the time in the world with them. 

He dug through rubble, calling Angelica’s name, Stephan’s name, Vincent’s name. No one answered. Jehan was next to him, helping him dig. He kept reaching up for his necklace, which wasn’t there. Was it terrible of him to miss his necklace almost as much as his friends? He thought so. 

… 

Eventually Jehan dragged him away from the debris. It was too dark to keep digging, and although Jehan understood, he didn’t want Courfeyrac to get hurt. Besides, the man must have been exhausted, he had been crying all day. 

They ended up around a fire with Combeferre and Enjolras. Jehan was petting Courfeyrac’s hair, trying to get him to go to sleep. They heard a commotion from Enjolras and Combeferre’s side of the fire, and looked up. 

“What?” Combeferre asked. Enjolras sat up, struggling a little against the sand. 

“They’re all right there! We can’t give up, we have to keep looking!” He struggled to stand, having only one arm to push himself up, as his arm had been broken. Combeferre tried to stop him. “NO! We can’t give up! We can’t leave them there to die!” 

“Enjolras, you need to sleep.” Combeferre reasoned, “You’ve been looking all day, there’s nothing we can do.” 

“But what if someone’s alive?” Enjolras asked, making his way towards the debris. He shrugged off the hand that Combeferre tried to put on his shoulder, “We have to keep looking!”

Courfeyrac got up. Jehan reached after him, slightly afraid he was going to help Enjolras go search for people in the night. Courfeyrac instead trapped Enjolras in a tight hug. Enjolras fought him, but Courfeyrac held on tighter, burying his face in Enjolras’s hair, realizing how grateful he was that neither he nor Combeferre were among the bodies he’d found. 

“I’ve got to keep looking!” Enjolras said desperately, and Courfeyrac could feel tears start to soak through his shirt, “I’m the one that got us all into this, I can’t just leave them there!” 

“I know.” Courfeyrac said, but he didn’t let go, tightening his hold, if anything. “It’s not your fault.” 

“But I did this! I shouldn’t have sent them all on those missions, I should have made sure this place was more secure, I’m the one who led us here!” Enjolras sobbed, his words spaced with pauses for him to draw breath and cough. Courfeyrac needed to ask him why he was coughing sometime. “I can’t just stop!” 

“We need to sleep.” Combeferre said again, coming up from behind and putting his hand on Enjolras’s shoulder. “We will look more in the morning. 

Enjolras sagged into Courfeyrac’s arms, defeated. They went back to the campfire and laid down for a sleepless night. 

…

Days had passed. Jehan had never seen Courfeyrac more despondent than that first week after the bombing, it was like his sadness was all consuming, like it was all that existed inside of him. He asked Combeferre about it, asked if Courfeyrac ever got like this before and Combeferre just shook his head, saying he’d never seen his friend like that. 

The last of Courfeyrac’s best-known friends died from injuries during that first week, Marcus. After that it was like all hope had been lost, the man didn’t even want to get out of bed. He wanted to sleep the days away. 

Jehan worried. The Amis’s supplies had been decimated. He asked Montparnasse for a loan on their behalf, which was awkward in light of their recent breakup, and he felt useless. Useless to comfort Courfeyrac and useless to be of any help to the Amis. 

One day, he sat on the bed next to Courfeyrac, petting his hair and just enjoying the fact that it was _something_ he could do, when the man turned and looked at him, his eyes watery. 

“Jehan, make it stop.” He said quietly, desperately. Jehan’s hand stilled.

“Make what stop, sweetie?” Jehan asked, frowning. He’d stop the world if it made that tone of despair leave Courfeyrac’s normally cheerful voice. 

“My heart hurts.” The man said, closing his eyes, “I thought it would stop after some time, I thought I’d be able to deal with it. Combeferre can deal with this, why can’t I?” 

“Fey, everyone deals with these things differently.” Jehan said, stroking his hair once more. “It hasn’t been long enough. You’ll feel better eventually.” 

Courfeyrac shook his head. “I don’t think I ever will… Jehan, I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad in my life.” 

“You haven’t been sad before?” Jehan asked, he was amazed. It felt like his whole life had been a big ball of misery and Courfeyrac had never experienced it?

Courfeyrac shook his head, “I was sad when I thought Enjolras hated me for being gay in high school, and I was sad when I left my parents, but… nothing like this. I’ve never felt like this before.” 

Jehan nodded, understanding. Courfeyrac let out a quiet sob. 

“And I’m sad about everyone who died, I really am. Angelica… I just... “ He sniffled, trying to compose himself, “I miss them a lot. But I feel like I lost my parents again too, you know? Because of the necklace… it was all I had of them.” 

Jehan hummed, “Oh Fey, you don’t have to feel bad. I know it’s hard. I know you miss everyone, but you don’t have to feel bad about any of it.” 

“And I know that there was nothing I could have done if I was there… Hell, I might have died if I was there, but I just… I wish I had been, you know? I wish I had something to show for all of this _agony_.” Courfeyrac continued. He started sobbing harder, unable to talk. 

“Shh…” Jehan hushed him, soothingly, bending down and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “It’s alright.” 

“Oh god, look at me. I’m a mess.” Courfeyrac said with a bitter laugh. “You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this.” 

“Fey,” Jehan said seriously, making Courfeyrac look up at him, “Even if I wasn’t head over heels for you, I’d still be here because we’re _friends_ and that’s what friends do for each other.” 

Courfeyrac sniffled and nodded, turning over so he could hold onto Jehan while the man continued to pet his hair, as though he was afraid Jehan was going to disappear. 

…

A week later, Babet stopped by and told Jehan that Eponine had been captured during one of her missions for Thenardier. Jehan was livid, he demanded to know how he could help, but Babet was useless, giving him no information and there was no way he could go after her himself. 

When he asked Montparnasse about it, the man just said that since Jehan was no longer part of the Patron-Minette, he could not go on missions with them, and that he had better stay with his boyfriend and the Amis. Jehan seethed. 

Several weeks after that, Eponine herself came around. Jehan was internally upset that no one told him she was free, he had been worried the whole time. She told him that she was very busy, earning money for some stuff and she just needed to talk to Marius. After that, she just stopped talking to either of them. 

Jehan spoke to Marius about her, but he didn’t know what she had wanted his help for or why. It had just been a bit of math, probably involving money, since the figures were so high. 

All Jehan knew from that point on about Eponine was from gossip from other Patron-Minette members. Apparently she also started going after Montparnasse, trying to seduce him. Maybe that was why she refused to talk to Jehan. 

…

Jehan and Courfeyrac’s relationship was going well. A few months passed since the bombing and Courfeyrac was becoming more like himself again. He stopped sleeping days away, started working on scraps from the hotel, all they had been able to salvage before the Operatives had started to watch the place. 

“Hey babe.” Jehan said, wrapping his arms around Courfeyrac as the man worked, building something. 

“Hey.” Courfeyrac said, putting his stuff down so he could kiss Jehan. After he drew away from the kiss, he rested their foreheads together, reveling in the closeness. 

“What’re you working on?” Jehan asked. Courfeyrac followed his gaze to see the small army of half-assembled grenades sitting on the table. 

“Something to sell to the Patron-Minette or Thenardier. Enjolras is worried about the loans we took with them, he said that Montparnasse just spoke with him to remind him that some payment is due.” Courfeyrac said. 

Enjolras hadn’t seemed too worried to the naked eye, but Courfeyrac knew him well enough to know he was freaking out. Their home economics class had not prepared him to budget for a revolution. 

“Oh.” Jehan said thoughtfully. “I’ll leave you too it, I guess.” 

“I can show you how to build one.” Courfeyrac offered. He knew Jehan wanted something to do, some way to help, but he couldn’t think of anything that there was that Jehan could possibly do to help him in this situation. 

Jehan shook his head, “Last time I almost blew my fingers off, you know that.” 

“I know.” Courfeyrac conceded. “Love you.” 

“Love you.” Jehan echoed, leaving the room. 

…

Jehan sat on the couch in the cramped living area. This place was far too small. He sighed. He, of all people, knew that Montparnasse wasn’t kidding when he said that some payment was due. Jehan knew that the Amis were on a plan, they didn’t have to pay the plan in full all at once, and he knew that he and Marius were the reason for that and that it wouldn’t be a cruel number that Enjolras would have to pay, but he was worried. He didn’t want to see Enjolras’s brain scattered across the floor like his mother’s had been. 

Brujon, one of the Amis that had survived the bombing, came into the room, sitting next to him. 

“Hey.” Jehan said in greeting. 

“You don’t sound happy.” Brujon commented. Jehan sighed and shook his head. 

“I just feel a little useless is all.” He admitted, “I don’t have anything to contribute to help make money, and now that I’ve been affiliated with the Patron-Minette, people won’t hire me for odd jobs.” He had tried to go back to his childhood source of income, to no avail. The people despised the Patron-Minette. 

“I mean, you were a pretty great prostitute.” Brujon commented, “I’d heard of you from some friends before I joined up.” 

Jehan had forgotten that Brujon had been born in the wastelands, that he was from the slums-area and understood Jehan’s past. Jehan shrugged.

“Yeah, I was.” He said, “But it’s not like I can do that now. I promised I wouldn’t, and Enjolras already disliked me as a _former_ prostitute, he’d never accept my money. Besides, I couldn’t do that to Courfeyrac.” 

“They don’t have to know.” Brujon said, raising a brow, “You could bring them the money and say you made it from odd jobs.” 

“They know that I can’t get jobs.” Jehan said, “I told them.” 

“Well, you could go out and get supplies from Thenardier with the money and tell them that that’s what you were working for, the supplies.” Brujon suggested. 

“Yeah, but they need money more than they need supplies, and Marius knows that the Thenardiers wouldn’t give me as much money as I’d earn for sex.” Jehan retorted. 

“Well, how about this: you do your thing, earn money. Then you bring most of the money to me and I can tell Enjolras I got it doing odd jobs. Then, to cover up why you’ve been gone for so long, you can bring back food and medical supplies from Thenardier’s with the remaining money, say that that’s all you can do.” Brujon said. 

Jehan nodded. It wasn’t a bad suggestion. He could do that. He’d like to be the one to bring the money, for vanity reasons, but more than that he _did_ want to help and he _was_ afraid of repercussions from the Patron-Minette. He would be happy enough as long as Enjolras was getting the money. 

“Alright.” Jehan said after a moment. What the Amis didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, “You have a deal.” 

…

Everything worked out fine for a few weeks. Jehan would go out, work the streets for a while in his old neighborhood, and then stop at Thenardier’s for food or whatever. He’d bring it back and slip the remaining money to Brujon, who would bring it back to Enjolras.

But then, upon talking to Marius a few weeks in, he found that the money he was giving to Brujon was slowly disappearing, the whole amount was not accounted for. Jehan didn't do anything about it then, wanting to believe that it was just someone being unorganized. He didn't want to think that while he was forsaking protective medicine in order to give every penny to the Amis, someone was stealing.

That is, until Jehan saw Brujon separating the money he was given, putting it in two different pockets. He decided that he had to do something about it. 

“Brujon.” He said, starting the man as he was sitting on his bed, “We need to talk.”

“About what, beautiful?” Brujon asked, as though he'd done nothing wrong. Jehan frowned. The man had been giving him annoyingly condescending nicknames focused on his appearance and he didn't appreciate it. 

“You've been taking money.” Jehan said, crossing his arms. “Why?”

The man looked as though he was having an internal debate, to lie or not to lie. 

“My compliance fee.” He said at last. “I'm saving to leave.”

“We didn't discuss a compliance fee, Brujon.” Jehan said through gritted teeth. He was angry, Brujon was getting all the credit and Jehan couldn't even stop him from stealing, for fear he'd tell Courfeyrac. “We can discuss one.”

“You won't agree to what I want, baby.” Brujon said. Suddenly it clicked, Jehan knew what Brujon wanted: him. 

“Name the price.” Jehan said, hating himself a little, “You'll find I can be very agreeable.”

“I want you on your knees for me.” Brujon said, licking his lips. Jehan slid off the bed, on his knees. 

After he finished, Jehan got up, wiping his mouth.

“So you'll stop taking money?” He asked. Brujon laughed.

“What are you going to do to stop me?” He asked, before leaving the room.

Jehan felt as though he’d been punched. That was for nothing? He had that _disgusting_ man in his _mouth_ for nothing? He sat back on the bed.

What was he going to do? What could he do? Even if he stopped now, Brujon would extort him, make him go back anyways. Brujon was still going to be seen as a hero with connections and Jehan was going to suffer. He buried his face in his hands and choked back a sob. He hadn't felt this powerless in years.

…

Courfeyrac was confused. Jehan had been getting more distant over the last few months. Ever since he’d been getting jobs at Thenardier’s, shitty pay that kept him away all day, he seemed on edge. 

Also, things in the bedroom were weird. Before, Jehan had seemed up for everything, but now he was taking it slow, refusing anything but hand jobs. Courfeyrac didn't want to assume, but Jehan had been a hooker. He would have thought he would want sex right away. Especially since they had already had it. 

His boyfriend was also on edge around Brujon lately, someone he used to get along with rather well. Courfeyrac mentally shrugged, shaking himself out of his reflections as he held onto Jehan in their bed. He would tell him if something was wrong, God knows Courfeyrac did that enough to him. 

Jehan mumbled in his sleep. Courfeyrac wiped some hair from his face, noticing he was overheated and sweating. He frowned. He'd have to tell Jehan to get checked out by Combeferre or Joly.

Courfeyrac looked at his clock. It was almost a reasonable time in the morning for him to be awake. He had insomnia lately, but he rationalized that it was his body making up for the excess sleep he got before. Nevermind that it didn’t really make sense, he didn’t want to bother Combeferre or Joly with something so trivial. He got up, leaving Jehan in the bed and went to work on something in the garage. 

When he got back to his room a few hours later, Jehan was still in bed. It was odd, Jehan didn’t usually sleep in. He ran a hand down his boyfriend’s face, just because he could. He was hot, but Courfeyrac didn’t think he was dangerously hot, the man was under a blanket in the desert, of course he’d be hot. 

“Jehan.” He said, shaking him a little. Jehan awoke, blinking at him sleepily. 

“Fey?” He asked, rubbing at his eyes. Courfeyrac thought he was adorable. 

“It’s time to wake up, baby.” He said, feeling his forehead again and frowning. Maybe he was a little too hot. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“Hmm? I feel fine. Just a little tired.” Jehan said. 

“Alright.” Courfeyrac said. “If you say so. If you feel worse go see Joly though, okay? Promise?” 

“Promise.” Jehan said, curling up a little. 

“I’m going to run some errands for Enjolras, but I’ll be back in a couple hours. Love you.” Courfeyrac said, kissing the ginger man on the head. Jehan hummed. 

As he left the room, Courfeyrac heard Jehan reply, “Love you more.” 

…

An hour later, Jehan sat up. The room was spinning. 

Last night he’d made a decision before he fell into a fitful sleep. He needed to come clean to Enjolras, maybe if he confessed before Brujon, Enjolras would believe him. He knew that Enjolras disliked prostitutes, but maybe he’d understand that Jehan felt he had no choice. Maybe…

The only problem was that the room was spinning. It didn’t matter. He was probably dehydrated or something. He’d go get water after he talked to Enjolras, he needed to talk to Enjolras. 

He fought with the blankets and they nearly won, but he eventually disentangled himself, getting up and walking to the door. He rested against the doorframe. Enjolras. He needed to talk to him. 

He got halfway down the hall, before he fell, sitting on the ground. Someone peeked their head out of a door and asked if he was alright. Jehan waved them off. He just needed to catch his breath. Had the desert always been this hot? 

Sous. He needed Claquesous. Claquesous knew how to fix stuff like this, like the desert being too hot. Wait. Joly. Joly was the new Claquesous. Joly knew how to do things. 

He’d go to Joly and then go to Enjolras. That was a plan. Joly could get him some water and then he could tell Enjolras. 

He walked into what he hoped was Joly’s room and frowned at the mass in front of him. It was warping and moving, but he was sure it was Joly. Funny, he never remembered Joly having three heads? One of them had a lot of hair and the other had none and the other was Joly. Huh. Learn something new every day. 

“The room’s spinning.” He said faintly, because he thought it was probably impolite to point out that Joly had grown two other heads, Joly probably wanted people to ignore it. 

Then the floor came up to swallow him and all he saw was darkness. 

…

Courfeyrac got out of his car, smiling. He’d brought back a cool pen with a flower on top to cheer up Jehan, and he knew the other man was going to love it. Combeferre was waiting for him when he drove up to the base, and he was internally dismayed, he didn’t want to go on another mission and that’s probably what the other man wanted. 

“Hey Ferre. What’s up?” He asked casually. 

“Um…” Combeferre said, fidgeting with his jacket and not looking Courfeyrac in the eyes. “Jehan… he’s kind of sick.” 

“Oh yeah, he seemed a little warm this morning.” Courfeyrac said, trying to convince himself it was nothing major, “Do you think it’s like a cold or something?” 

“No.” Combeferre admitted slowly. Courfeyrac’s heart dropped. “Joly thinks it’s kind of worse than a cold, you see… well… Joly thinks he has an STD.” 

There was a moment of silence. Courfeyrac was floored. This explained so much and he was so… he was so mad. Jehan had told him he’d given it up, he’d promised he’d given it up. And Courfeyrac told him he still would have dated him and everything, why had the man lied? Why did he need to lie to him? 

But he couldn’t be concerned with that right now. He needed… he needed to think about his boyfriend. Combeferre wouldn’t be talking to him if it wasn’t serious. He needed to be sure Jehan was alright when he yelled at him. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Courfeyrac asked at last. Combeferre let out a breath, as though he had been afraid of Courfeyrac’s reaction. 

“I…” Combeferre trailed off, “I don’t know, Courf.” 

“Where is he?” Courfeyrac asked, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. He couldn’t lose Jehan like this, not so soon, not with all these mixed emotions. 

“He’s in your room.” Combeferre said, and Courfeyrac set off without another word. 

… 

Courfeyrac looked at Jehan. He was lying in their bed as though he hadn’t moved since the morning, except he looked worse. He was bright red and making little noises of pain in his sleep. Enjolras and Combeferre were talking behind him, but Courfeyrac wasn’t listening. 

He set his sunglasses on the bedside table-box-thing and sat next to Jehan, lifting the man’s head onto his lap so that he could hold him, try to stop him from shivering so. His heart ached. He wished he could be angry, that he could yell and get it all out. But he loved this man and it would be unfair to yell at someone in this state. He could wait. He could wait until Jehan got better. If he got better. 

He looked up at his friends, and they looked watery. Oh shit, he was going to cry. He didn’t want to do that, but he wanted them to understand that he didn’t condone this. 

“I want to be mad,” He said, his voice sounding like shit even to himself. “But I can’t let his last memory of me be me being mad, you know?”

“Yeah.” Combeferre said as Enjolras nodded. He should have known. Of course they knew, they knew him better than anyone. 

There was a long moment of silence, where Courfeyrac tried to restrain his tears, taking shuddery breaths. 

“Fey?” Jehan asked, breaking the silence. Enjolras and Combeferre left the room. Courfeyrac was eternally grateful. 

“Yeah?” He asked, sniffling and wiping his eyes. “What is it, babe?” 

“Fey, you’re here.” Jehan said, his voice so relieved it broke Courfeyrac’s heart. “I thought you were gone.” 

“Gone where?” Courfeyrac asked. Jehan shrugged. 

“Gone.” He repeated, as though it was a real answer. Courfeyrac hummed. 

“Do you know why you’re sick?” Courfeyrac asked as gently as he could. 

“I did a bad.” Jehan said, his voice far away, “And then… it was like before… like the time in the alley.” 

Courfeyrac figured he was talking about when they met. He sighed. 

“Yeah. And you gotta get better so I can be mad, okay?” He said, petting Jehan’s hair. 

“No, you can’t be mad, he’ll be mad.” Jehan babbled. Courfeyrac was confused. Maybe he meant Montparnasse? Montparnasse would be mad if Courfeyrac was mad? 

“Shh… it’s okay baby.” Courfeyrac said, allowing Jehan to turn away a little and following him so he could continue to smooth his hair. It was soothing. “It’s okay.” 

…

Montparnasse brought Claquesous, who diagnosed Jehan in about three seconds and went to raid the Amis’ pantry. Montparnasse hung out awhile while they waited for Jehan’s fever to lower. Once it had, Montparnasse asked to talk to Courfeyrac, leaving Jehan with Enjolras. 

Joly had talked to Jehan, told him about everything that happened. In return, Jehan told Joly why he was sick. Joly told him that it was what they thought. 

Jehan frowned as he waited for Enjolras to come in, as he’d been told he would. He thought he’d been trying to tell Courfeyrac something, something about something he didn’t like to think about. When Enjolras entered he shrugged it off, focusing on the blond. There was something he was meaning to say to him as well. 

“Hey.” Enjolras said, sitting next to him on the bed. “How are you feeling?” Jehan was a little confused. He’d have thought Enjolras would be disgusted by him. 

“Terrible.” Jehan replied, trying to act unsurprised that Enjolras still apparently liked him as a person. “Apparently I was complimenting Joly all day? I’m confused.” 

“Yeah.” Enjolras said, “I heard about that.” 

They sat in silence for a minute. Jehan was trying to remember what the hell he’d wanted to tell Enjolras that morning. It was important, he knew it. And the fact that Enjolras was okay with him had something to do with it. He remembered and his eyes snapped open, startling the blond. 

“Wait.” He said urgently, struggling with blankets in an effort to get up, stupid blankets, always inhibiting him. “Enjolras. Enjolras, I needed to tell you something.” 

“Woah, calm down.” Enjolras said, gently pressing Jehan’s shoulder so he laid back down, Jehan sighed, he needed to sit to clear his head. “Take it easy.” 

“It’s important. I was going to find you, but I couldn’t make it.” Jehan said, giving in and lying back down. Maybe then Enjolras would listen. “I needed to talk to you.” 

“Well I’m here now.” Enjolras said in a comforting voice. It was reassuring. “What did you need to tell me?” 

“Brujon…” Jehan trailed off, trying to think of the right way to put this. He didn’t want to admit that Brujon had used him (more than once, actually), he never wanted to talk about that ever. “He’s been taking my money.” 

“Like from where you were saving it?” Enjolras asked, sounding confused and vaguely upset. 

“No.” Jehan said, shaking his head weakly, he needed Enjolras to understand. “No, I was giving it to you! I was… I was trying to.” 

Enjolras looked baffled and remained silent, so Jehan kept talking. 

“I gave it to Brujon and he was supposed to give it to you.” Jehan explained, praying the leader would believe him. “But he wasn’t! He was only giving you a little and it wasn’t what we agreed on and all I wanted to do was help.” 

There was a long pause. Jehan’s heart sank. Enjolras didn’t believe him. And why should he? It was the word of a fucking whore against a man with good standing in the group. Enjolras had every right to not believe. But he wanted him to, god he wanted recognition for all he tried to do. 

“I see.” Enjolras said. Jehan cursed the neutral answer. Could Enjolras just condemn him already so he didn’t get his hopes up? 

“I was doing this for you guys.” Jehan said, feeling faint. The stress was probably bad for him in this state, Claquesous used to say stuff like that to him when he was sick. “I wanted… I wanted to do _something_. And that’s the only thing I’m any good at.” 

“Jehan…” Enjolras trailed off, and Jehan could see the pity in his eyes. Maybe that meant Enjolras believed him. 

“I want Courf.” Jehan said, frowning. His message was sent, he didn’t want to see Enjolras disapprove. He wanted things to go back to the way they were before. “I just want Courf. He’s gonna be so _mad_.”

“Everything will be alright as long as you explain.” Enjolras said reasonably.

Jehan shook his head and wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s middle, feeling the blond jolt in surprise. Enjolras reassuring him was all the reassurance he needed that the man believed him. 

“But I _promised_ I wasn’t gonna do it and I _lied_.” Jehan said into the man’s shirt, “And I _really_ love him and he’s gonna break up with me and-” He drew in shaky, sobbing breaths and Enjolras rubbed his shoulder soothingly. Jehan wondered how he ever thought Enjolras disliked him. This man was great. 

“Courfeyrac can’t stay mad for long.” Enjolras assured him, “And he’s crazy about you.” 

Jehan mostly forgot about what they talked about after that, but he was pretty sure he just talked about Courfeyrac. He would dread the day Enjolras decided to bring it up again. 

…

Montparnasse and Courfeyrac were having their own conversation downstairs. Courfeyrac was honestly nervous, but he covered it up by being pissed off. That is, until Montparnasse explained that he never condoned Jehan doing that. 

“Wait…” Courfeyrac said, anger draining from his voice, “You never wanted him to be a hooker? Even before you were together?” 

“We got together when he was seventeen.” Montparnasse said, “He was too young. And now he was just stupid. Not taking preventative meds, what was wrong with him?” 

“I don’t know.” Courfeyrac said. He thought maybe Jehan had been doing this for Montparnasse, that the man had put him up to it, but now… what was going on? 

“Courfeyrac, I like you.” Montparnasse said, catching Courfeyrac’s attention, “I really do. But this dumbass is your problem now and I will not fix every little bullshit thing he does and I will not be blamed unless it’s my fault, got it? I don’t need a reputation for prostituting kids.” 

“Got it.” Courfeyrac said, frowning. “Wait, just how young was Jehan when he started? I thought he was like seventeen or something.” 

“Thirteen.” Montparnasse said with a tone of distaste. “It’s all he knows, and he’ll always go back it it. You just can’t change people.” 

Courfeyrac privately disagreed. “I guess so.” 

“So be pissed at him and not at me. And tell Marius to visit.” Montparnasse said. “I’ll come up with a payment plan from your fearless leader.” 

Courfeyrac followed Montparnasse up to Jehan’s room. Montparnasse's asked for a moment alone with the sick man, so Courfeyrac waited outside of the room, Enjolras joining him a moment later to give the other two men privacy.

“Hey.” Enjolras said in greeting.

“Hey.” Courfeyrac said back, letting his exhaustion leech into his voice. Being this angry and confused made him tired. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep.

“You feeling any better?” 

Courfeyrac shook his head, “I’m still mad. If the medicine works as well as Parnasse says it should, I’m going to kill him myself.” He looked at the door, frowning and reflecting on what Montparnasse's had said and what Jehan had said in his addled state. Maybe he wasn't as mad as he was letting Enjolras think.

“Hey,” Enjolras said, drawing Courfeyrac’s attention away from the door, “Take it easy on him, okay? Hear him out.” 

Courfeyrac sighed, “Fine.” That was the plan anyways.

… 

Jehan fidgeted while Montparnasse glared down at him. The man had been glaring for about a minute now and Jehan was getting nervous. 

“Jean Prouvaire.” Montparnasse said at last, making Jehan flinch. “You’re a fucking idiot.” 

“I know.” Jehan said quietly. God, he really didn’t want Montparnasse here. 

“You fucking lied to me, to my face, about not fucking around anymore, and then you asked me for help?” Montparnasse asked, “I can’t fucking believe you.” 

“I’m sorry.” Jehan said, looking at his hands. “I’m really sorry.” 

“Whatever.” Montparnasse said, “I can’t have you coming around if you’re going to keep lying to me, Jehan. Stay away from the strip club.” 

“No,” Jehan said, looking up. If Courfeyrac hated him, where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to do? The Patron-Minette was his backup plan, and he actually liked the guys, “No, I… that’s my home!” 

He was crying now, but his tears seemed to garner him no sympathy with the man, who continued to glare.

“This is your home now.” Montparnasse said, waving out a hand to indicate the run-down room. “And if you don’t like it, then maybe you should invest in a time machine.” 

And with that, Montparnasse left, slamming the door behind him. 

Jehan sobbed into his hands quietly, trying to make himself stop. He knew that someone would be in to check up on him, they weren’t offering him his privacy. He needed to get this under control. 

Courfeyrac came in and Jehan started crying harder when the man looked at him with the same glare Montparnasse had fixed him with earlier. 

“Jehan-” Courfeyrac began in a hard tone, but Jehan cut him off. 

“No, no…” He said, waving a hand to make Courfeyrac stop, “No, if you’re going to kick me out, I don’t want to go, please don’t make me go.” He begged. Enjolras had seemed reasonable before, but maybe he was letting Courfeyrac make the decision. Maybe they were only keeping him until he got better. 

“What?” Courfeyrac asked, frowning. “Why-” 

“I want to stay.” Jehan said desperately, “Parnasse… he told me I can never go back home. And I don’t want to! But I… if you kick me out too I’ll have nowhere.” 

Courfeyrac uncrossed his arms, taking a step closer to the bed. Jehan had to stop being such a drama queen. Courfeyrac wasn’t going to kick him out, he would never! Why was Jehan making it so hard for Courfeyrac to be mad at him? 

“Why did you do it?” Courfeyrac asked, making Jehan look up at him. The ginger man looked like shit, something Courfeyrac had thought was impossible. It turned out that Jehan was in fact capable of ugly crying. “I want to know why.”

“Why what?” Jehan asked, his voice half-deranged. His brain wasn’t working as well as it should have been and he blamed it on emotion and illness. “Why I did it this time? Why I got into it in the first place? Why Montparnasse is so fucking pissed at me? Why Brujon? Why I didn’t stop? What do you want to know?” 

Courfeyrac stared at him, a little shocked. He crossed his arms again because he didn’t know what to do with them. 

“All of it.” He said. “I want to know everything.” 

Jehan took a deep, shuddery breath. Courfeyrac wanted to know everything? He could tell him everything.

…

Halfway through the story, Courfeyrac sat on the floor. Jehan had just told him about how his mother sent him to go prostitute to fuel her addiction, how he’d been raped, and how Montparnasse had blown her brains out all over his childhood home. He was getting into his reasons for prostituting behind Montparnasse’s back. It was because he felt useless and lonely. 

Courfeyrac made a mental note to find Jehan a hobby, and let the man continue. 

Jehan explained his breakup with Montparnasse and the promise he had made and his intention to keep it. It turned out that prostitution had not been Jehan’s first choice, when feeling lonely and useless here. Brujon had suggested it. Courfeyrac made another mental note to strangle the man. 

“So, that’s the whole story?” Courfeyrac asked after he explained the plan he’d made with Brujon. Jehan shook his head. 

“I was going to stop after I got a certain amount of money.” Jehan said. Over the course of explaining his tears had dried. “I wanted to help, but I knew that it was all risky and wrong. But when I found out Enjolras was still in debt to Montparnasse… I knew something was up. It turned out he’d been taking the money and keeping it.” 

“What a fucking asshole!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. He’d been pissed before, but now Brujon was going to suffer greatly. Jehan’s heart soared. “Is that what you told Enjolras?” 

“Yeah.” Jehan said, “But first I confronted him and it… it didn’t end well.” Jehan admitted. He didn’t want to talk about this. But Courfeyrac already knew about the real rape, the one in the alley that had scared him out of his mind. This was nothing in comparison. He shouldn’t have been so affected. 

“What happened?” Courfeyrac asked. When Jehan didn't respond right away he took the man’s hand. Jehan looked at him, shocked. “What did he do?”

“At first… at first he made it sound like if I got him off he’d stop taking my money, so I gave him a blowjob and I thought it was over, but afterwards… it was like he was testing my limit, seeing if I’d actually do it. And when I did he didn’t stop taking money, he just started demanding that I let him do whatever he wanted to me and I didn’t want that, Fey. I really didn’t want to, but he was going to tell everyone if I didn’t and... “ Jehan took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry.” 

Courfeyrac didn’t think he’d ever been this mad at one person ever, in his whole life. He tightened his hold on Jehan’s hand. 

“You don’t need to be sorry for that.” Courfeyrac said. Jehan looked confused, so he explained, “You don’t have to be sorry for what he did to you. You do have to be sorry for being an _idiot_ and putting yourself at risk like that, but what he did… he’s fucking disgusting.”

“I know I was stupid.” Jehan said, “I just didn’t want Montparnasse to kill my family all over again.” 

Courfeyrac kind of wondered why Jehan was with Montparnasse, knowing his backstory in full now, but he didn’t ask. Jehan deserved to be allowed to keep some of that private if he wanted to. 

And Brujon… Courfeyrac was going to fucking kill him. Or… maybe not. A thought just occurred to him. 

“Jehan, when did you get sick?” He asked. 

“I swear it was after we stopped having sex. I stopped taking the protection meds to try to make up for what Brujon was stealing and after I stopped taking the pills I didn’t want to get you sick.” Jehan said, afraid Courfeyrac thought he was dumb enough to contaminate him. 

“No, I mean… did you feel sick when you were with Brujon?” Courfeyrac asked. Jehan caught his train of thought. He grinned and nodded. “I need to talk to Montparnasse real quick.” 

…

Courfeyrac explained that Brujon had forced himself on Jehan, and that was all Montparnasse needed to know to put Brujon on the Patron-Minette’s list of people to fuck over. He said that whatever Jehan had was pretty fucking contageous and that the man would probably be at their door asking for a cure. Then Montparnasse would slam the door in his face. 

That evening, Enjolras had some “private words” with Brujon, which ended up in the man breaking Brujon’s jaw. Courfeyrac figured that Enjolras didn’t like whatever Brujon had to say. 

Enjolras offered some money to Jehan, what he had gotten from Brujon’s stash was more than enough to pay off Montparnasse. Jehan was deeply offended.

“Help the needy.” He told the blond, who looked a little confused, “By needy, I mean us. We need a new house.” 

Enjolras agreed to put the money towards a new base, and within a few months, they moved there. 

… 

Courfeyrac had been slightly upset at Jehan for the next few days after his explanation, but he was mostly over it. He understood his boyfriend’s reasoning. He told Jehan that if he wanted to do something like that again they’d have to talk about it first, and that he really didn’t want Jehan to be a hooker. Jehan said he’d try, but reminded Courfeyrac that he still didn’t have any skills besides sex and sometimes shooting guns. 

Courfeyrac renewed his efforts to get Jehan a hobby. They tried science with Combeferre (he nearly destroyed the man’s lab), math with Marius (he really just was not a person who was cut out for complex numbers, besides he’d dropped out in middle school), coding with Marius (he honestly hated looking at computer screens and he couldn’t even remember the most basic things), and while he was a pretty good shot, he wasn’t as good as Musichetta. Joly was trying to teach him some medical skills when Enjolras started up the radio. 

It turned out, Jehan was really fucking good at working the radio, as it was pretty easy and Courfeyrac took care of the mechanical aspect. All he had to do was make sure it sounded good and play music. 

Thus a radio personality was born.

Enjolras started sending the Amis out on less missions, but he started to include Jehan in them, something he hadn’t done so much in the past. Jehan finally felt like he was part of the group. 

Seven more Amis died or left. Courfeyrac had been pretty devastated when the two died on a mission, and he was upset when the five left, but there was nothing he could do. 

…

Three years passed and nothing really happened, except that the Amis all got very close to each other, like a real family. Of course there were close calls and missions and drama, but it was all rather toned down. Courfeyrac worried that Jehan was going to get bored with him, but when he brought it up, Jehan laughed. 

“Bored? With you? Not a chance. I’m never bored when you’re with me.” 

Things continued this way until Bossuet got captured by Tomorrow Comes and Musichetta and Joly went to get him. The rest was history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, so sorry guys! We have been so busy lately, we're changing the uploads to Sundays instead of Fridays, so please forgive us! Can't wait to bring you more next week~
> 
> This chapter was FredAndGinger's favorite one to write so far, and oh god did she condense it. You would have had another whole entire Danger Days 50k+ word fanfiction if she didn't! We really hope you enjoy it~
> 
> -SpinalBaby


	3. The Sharpest Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated (T).
> 
> This chapter is the story of Bahorel and Feuilly...
> 
> _“Uh…” Bahorel’s mind needed a few moments to get back into working order, “Sunning.”_
> 
> _The ginger gave him a look of disbelief, “...Sunning?”_

Bahorel had a pretty good childhood, and home life. His parents were pretty cool about everything, and he had a steady job. Even though he didn’t do great in school it didn’t stop him from having a good time. Working at the factory was just fine, even if he had to spend the rest of his life there… yeah. Fine. 

Bahorel theorized that it was due to his enormous stature that he was so resistant to the contentment drugs. They gave factory workers practically three times the dose of an average citizen, and yet here he was, uncontent. That was okay though too, he kind of liked the variety having emotions gave to his life. That and as long as he didn’t act up, Tomorrow Comes would never know they needed to up his dose. For now, he was good. Well, at least if Tomorrow Comes didn’t find out about the fact that he was homosexual either… Yeah, but other than that life was good. Enough.

Bahorel lifted and transported box after box to the loading dock as he dwelled on how lonely he was. Factory life was rather tedious and time consuming so no one really had time for friends or anything other than the short nights home with their families. It was pretty lonely. To pass the time sometimes Bahorel would go up to the roof on his break and lay out in the sun. It was relaxing and he read somewhere that the sun made people happier. That’s just what he needed. Some relaxation and happy time.

Feuilly grew up somewhat similarly to Bahorel. His parents were hard working individuals and Feuilly took after them. His parents never really approved of the contentment drugs so they didn’t give Feuilly the full dose. They had been worried at first that it might be obvious they weren’t drugging up their son enough but the boy had no problem working past it. Feuilly worked hard at absolutely everything and his marks in school showed it. The city had offered to move him to the elite school in the North Sector but Feuilly had turned them down, and ended up with several part-time jobs by the age of nineteen. The shipment supervisor was by far his favorite job because there he could see Bahorel. 

Bahorel was in training to be a driver for the shipment trucks, but they mostly had him doing odd jobs like lifting since he was such a buff guy. He was kind, and funny, and overall just fun to be around. The only issue there was that Bahorel didn’t actually seem to know he really existed as anything other than his boss. At school they had passed each other a few times in the halls, but they never really interacted much. Bahorel always seemed to be doing his own thing and Feuilly tended to keep to himself. It wasn’t until one day when Feuilly found Bahorel on his break that he realized the feelings he felt for the man were a crush.

Bahorel was laying on the roof in his boxers, uniform jumpsuit splayed out underneath him like some sort of beach towel substitute as he basked in the sun. He felt at ease, warm, and happy, like always. He only had a half hour left of his break, and he was determined to enjoy it. They only got one hour’s break for every twelve hour shift, after all. While Bahorel was lost in warm thoughts someone had came up on the roof too, snapping him out of his daydream as the heavy metal door shut behind the unknown person. 

Bahorel shot up from where he sat, looking behind him. There was his supervisor, a thin, yet surprisingly muscular ginger guy, about the same age as him, and yet somehow so much more intimidating. It must have had something to do with how attractive he was. Bahorel was sure he was done for when he saw the man there, arms folded across his chest as he squinted down at Bahorel.

“What are you doing up here?” The man asked, walking towards Bahorel.

“Uh…” Bahorel’s mind needed a few moments to get back into working order, “Sunning.”

The ginger gave him a look of disbelief, “...Sunning?”

“Yeah, uh, it’s relaxing. Gets you into tip top shape for all that lifting.” Bahorel gave a forced grin.

“Uh huh…” His supervisor didn’t seem to be buying it. Or at least Bahorel didn’t think he was until he sat down beside Bahorel on the ground, looking up at the sun. “It is nice and warm, isn’t it?”

“...Yeah, it is.” Bahorel watched as the man beside him closed his eyes, lips forming a slight smile as he tilted his head up towards the sun. “What are you doing up here?”

“Sunning.” His supervisor replied, smirking a little, “It’s relaxing.”

Bahorel snorted a bit at that. So, this guy had a sense of humor. Thank god, otherwise he would have been in so much trouble already. “Being a supervisor must be hard work.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” The ginger replied, “It’s the easiest of my jobs. I used to work on the line painting the little hand fans that we make, but then I got promoted. I really liked that job the most.”

“Oh.” Bahorel didn’t really know what to say. “Yeah, I worked there for a minute.”

“I know.” The man replied, “I trained you on that. You ended up sucking so bad I had to recommend you to shipment instead.”

Bahorel let out a hearty laugh, “Oh yeah. I remember that! It’s not my fault I’ve got big hands. Those fans are way too small to paint those tiny little details on.” His supervisor laughed too. It was the prettiest laugh Bahorel had ever head. It just sounded so… perfect. It made him happy. 

“It’s not like it was very interesting anyways, I guess.” He shrugged.

Bahorel leaned back a little, “Nothing interesting ever happens here… Well, I take that back. There was that one kid who came through the laundry a while back. That was pretty interesting.” He didn’t know why he was talking like this with a guy he hardly knew and one who was above his position at that, but he pushed those thoughts out of his head.

“Oh, I remember that.” The man said thoughtfully, but then scrunched up his nose a little. “None of the delicates got properly washed that day. It was a nightmare.” 

Bahorel snickered, “Sorry.”

“So it was you that let him through, wasn’t it?”

Bahorel raised his hands, “I have the right to remain silent.”

His supervisor made a noise of disbelief, before looking down at his watch. “My break is up. I’ll be seeing you Bahorel.” The ginger pulled himself to his feet before giving a curt wave and exiting the roof. 

“Wait-” Bahorel was too late to ask his name, he was already on his way back down to the shipment area. Oh well. Maybe he could just ask later.

…

Bahorel had finally been promoted to a higher position of directing the delivery trucks and his first day on the job he got his wish. Something interesting happened. A group of young men, about his age, all looking very out of place, dressed in North Sector fashion, sitting in a regular car. Bahorel walked over to the car, rapping on the window with his small handheld stop sign. The driver, a kid with wild brunette hair, rolled it down.

“Hey.” Bahorel said, “So, what are you doing?”

A short blond guy who was sitting next to the driver piped up, “We’re authorized to leave the city with this shipment.” He sounded almost confident enough to not be lying.

“Uh huh, uh huh…” Bahorel nodded a little, did they really think that they were getting away with this? “So you’re running off to the wastelands, huh?”

Everyone in the car looked like they were about to be publicly executed or something. 

“Uh…” The driver began. He was cut off by Bahorel’s supervisor who was briskly walking over, yelling about the car full of teenagers.

“Hey, what is this car doing here?” The man shouted as he walked over, “This is not a residential area!”

“It’s fine.” Bahorel said, winking at the three young men in the car. Who was he to doom them to a dull, eventless life in the city like his own? “They’re authorized to leave the city.”

“Really?” His supervisor didn’t seem to buy it. Actually, now that Bahorel was paying attention to him, he realized it was the same supervisor who had sunned on the roof with him a couple of months back. Maybe he’d let this slide.

“Really.” Bahorel nodded.

“Whatever.” The ginger sighed, “If they turn out to be fucking rebels or something I’ll just get shipped off to the facility, no big deal. I need a break anyways.” He huffed, walking away to go check on the trucks.

“You’re cleared, just follow the truck and you’re good to go.” Bahorel grinned, patting the side of the car and walking away. The truck in front of the teens moved and they followed it out. Bahorel looked back as they left, sighing. He wished he could just leave too… Wait. He could.

Bahorel was a few feet away from his supervisor when he stopped, looking back at the wall, then at the ginger, then back to the wall. He could just run now, if he wanted to catch up with them. He heard his supervisor make a confused noise as he bolted, running through the wall with the rest of the trucks. He could see the car only a little bit ahead as he passed through the wall into the wastelands. It was so empty compared to the city. There was only sand and a shitty road as far as the eye could see. 

“WAIT!” Bahorel yelled as he chased after the car, frantically waving his stop sign. Dear god, these guys drove fast. He heard the sirens starting up behind him. Luckily the car skidded to a stop just long enough for Bahorel to jump in before the two Operatives that served as the outer gate guards began to chase after them. “Drive!” He said as he plopped down next to the tallest guy and the car took off once more. 

They drove for a while, making sharp turns and speeding up at random times as they got closer to the residential area of the wastelands. Soon, they Operatives were off their trail.

That was when Bahorel suddenly realized he’d forgotten to introduce himself. “I never properly introduced myself. I’m Bahorel.”

“Combeferre.” The tall one next to him stuck out his hand. Bahorel laughed, shaking it. 

“I’m Enjolras.” The blond in the front said. 

“I’m Courfeyrac!” The driver said gleefully. “That was pretty cool of you back there!”

“It was nothing,” Bahorel shrugged. Helping them had just gotten him his free ticket out of the city. He was happy with that. “I wanted to get away for a while now.”

…

After Bahorel ran off, Feuilly was forced to answer a barrage of questions from the Ops. He was in deep, deep trouble and he knew it. If he stuck around town for much longer while they decided what to do with him he might end up at the facility and despite his sarcastic joke about the facility the other day, Feuilly did not want to end up there. His only choice was to leave the city and hopefully find those other rebels that Bahorel ran off with. At least then he would be free.

…

After three days of camping out in the wastelands, feeling like shit from the withdrawal of the drugs, Feuilly showed up.

It had been while they were discussing finding shelter and water when they saw his figure walking towards them from the horizon. It took a little bit before the figure was close enough to really tell who he was, but when he was there, Bahorel let out a short laugh.

“I’ll be damned.” He said, grinning, getting up and walking over to meet the man. “It’s you. You skipped the city too?”

Feuilly internally sighed in relief as Bahorel walked up to him. “Of course I did. Did you really expect me to go to the facility over your daring escape?”

Bahorel snorted, “Guess not.”

“So, what are you guys doing out here? You don’t look like you’ve made much progress in finding shelter or anything yet…” Feuilly looked over their campsite as he walked over with Bahorel.

“We were just talking about that.” He said. As they made it up to the trio, Bahorel grinned, swinging his arm around the Feuilly’s shoulders, “Guys, this is my supervisor from the factory! He decided to join us!”

The taller man gave him an unsure look, but the blond he was sitting next to looked ecstatic, “Awesome! Always good to have new people. What’s your name?”

“His name is…” Bahorel paused as he looked Feuilly up and down, “Hot ginger supervisor?”

“It’s Feuilly.” The ginger rolled his eyes. Still, he couldn’t help but blush a little. “You should know that by now, asshole. I knew your name.”

“Sorry man, I just didn’t care.” Bahorel said, looking much more happy than sorry.

“How did you escape, Feuilly?” The brunette piped up.

“Oh. That was easy. I just scaled the wall two nights ago and started heading north. That seemed to be the direction you guys were heading, and I could only fit so many supplies in this bag…” He patted his backpack.

“You mean you just climbed up the wall?” The blond looked impressed.

“Yup.” Feuilly shrugged, “I guess I did.”

…

Living out in the wastelands was surprisingly liberating. Despite all the hard work Bahorel and Feuilly put into finding and fixing up their first base with the trio, things were honestly pretty fun. Especially when more and more people began to show up. It happened in large bursts at first, and then much more sporadically. It was getting harder for people to leave the city. 

Being among the first Amis gave the two of them a special bond that none of the others could quite share. And what better way to express that bond than through the weekly fighting rings? Enjolras didn’t necessarily condone the brawling that went on at the base every Friday morning. It was something like cock fighting to him, with the betting and all- but he’d never put a stop to it. He agreed that it was a good way to get out aggression and to show passion. It would have never been allowed in the city, and they were rebels, weren’t they?

That’s what Bahorel always said, anyways. It was a chilly and foggy Friday morning that Bahorel and Feuilly worked their way up the ranks and were set to fight each other. It was also the same morning that Courfeyrac, and Jehan (his strange friend from the Patron Minette) approached them. 

“Sooooo, we’re down on our money right now, and we really, really, really want to buy some bread for my toaster.” Courfeyrac whined as they stood near the fighting ring. 

“We finally found someone who sells it near Thenardier’s.” Jehan added.

“What’s that got to do with us?” Bahorel asked, looking at the two men and then back at Feuilly.

“Well…” Courfeyrac began.

“We bet that you’d make out instead of fighting.” Jehan said bluntly. 

“You bet… what?” Feuilly nearly choked. 

Bahorel snorted, trying to play it down, keep it cool. “Well, I mean, if this sexy motherfucker is down for it…” He said, arms folded across his chest.

Feuilly shook his head, “No way.” If Bahorel didn’t know better he’d say Feuilly looked flustered.

“Awww, come on! If not for us, do it for the sake of toast!” Courfeyrac whined, “We’ll give you some.”

…

Everyone was chanting. Bahorel could hardly hear anything over the repetitive shouts of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” From all the Amis. He could, however hear Courfeyrac and Jehan’s opposing chants of “Kiss!”. He kept an eye of Feuilly as the two of them circled each other carefully. The ginger’s gray eyes were intense, practically burning right through him. 

“So, are we going to give them what they want?” Bahorel let out a hearty laugh.

“You seem suspiciously eager…” Bahorel studied Feuilly’s face, but it gave him no clues as to what the man was actually thinking. Suddenly the ginger lunged at him, and Bahorel stumbled back, caught by surprise. He fell onto the sand, catching Feuilly above him at the hips, shocked as the man pulled him up by the collar into a passionate kiss. The deafening crowd was silenced all at once as Bahorel reached up, running his hands through the back of Feuilly’s ginger curls. The only sounds were the wild cheers of Courfeyrac and Jehan. After a few moments the crowd seemed to recover, booing in disappointment. Feuilly pulled back for air. 

Bahorel grinned up at the thinner man, somewhat breathless. “Damn.” 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Feuilly blushed, standing up and pulling Bahorel to his feet.

Courfeyrac and Jehan rushed over before Bahorel had a chance to respond. “Oh. My. God!” Courfeyrac tackled Bahorel and Feuilly together in a hug, “We won! We’re all going to have toast this weekend in celebration. I’ll make it the best way, medium-rare.” 

Feuilly raised his eyebrows, seeming somewhat perplexed by this statement.

“You guys were great out there- you should go out, you really look like you’ve some good chemistry.” Jehan smirked, hands on his hips. Bahorel looked at Feuilly, who shrugged.

“I mean, I’d love to but-” Bahorel began to talk, hoping he could use this as a low-key opportunity to ask Feuilly out. The ginger interrupted him before he could finish.

“But we’re already together.” He crossed his arms. Bahorel grinned, throwing an arm around Feuilly’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“We are!” The giant beamed.

“You are?” Jehan asked. 

“We are.” Feuilly reaffirmed. Courfeyrac looked shocked.

“And you didn’t tell _me_?” .

…

“So we’re together now, are we?” Bahorel laughed, as he walked with an arm around Feuilly, beer in his other hand. They’d spent the afternoon drinking and now the sun was setting and they were on their way back to his room.

“If you don’t mind, that is,” Feuilly’s hand rested on Bahorel’s chest for balance. It didn’t help much, but it made him feel a little more stable. He was smashed. “Because if you mind then I mind, and even though I’ll be-”

Bahorel held a finger up to Feuilly’s lips, “Shhh… Don’t ruin it. I fucking want you and you better believe it.”

This time it was Feuilly’s turn to grin, “Good.” He said, yanking Bahorel into the first open door he saw. Within moments they’d fallen onto the bed, entangled in each other. 

“What the fuck guys?!” Combeferre practically squealed, jumping off his bed, a book in hand. He had been reading up until the two men suddenly came in, making out and jumped onto the bed. Bahorel merely waved Combeferre off with his hand as he continued to kiss Feuilly. The disheveled man shook his head, making a noise of annoyance before scurrying off. 

That was the first night they kept up half of the hotel full of Amis awake all night, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

…

It was a hot sunny day when everything went to hell. Bahorel was laying on a blanket in the sand, eyes closed as he sunned himself near the building. Feuilly sat beside him, staring up at the blue sky as he pet his boyfriend’s hair. 

“What the hell is that?” Feuilly asked, breaking the silence. He squinted, leaning forward to see the fast approaching blotch in the blue sky. “Is that a-”

The object crashed straight into the hotel, bringing with it a deafening noise as the two men were tossed back several yards. Feuilly coughed, his skin feeling like it was searing as stray debris pelted him. He pulled himself up a little, looking for Bahorel among the clouds of dust. 

“Bahorel?!” He shouted, but he couldn’t even hear himself, ears ringing. As the dust began to clear he spotted the man, crawling towards him. He couldn’t stand up, he realized as pain shot through his leg. Bahorel was getting up, and when he saw Feuilly he ran forward. 

“What happened?” Bahorel asked, voice cutting through the ringing as he looked around. The building was beginning to collapse and people were running and screaming as they ran out. Feuilly squinted, able to make out Enjolras as he ran out with Combeferre. Bahorel picked him up, running over in that direction. Enjolras collapsed onto the ground in a fit of coughing when Bossuet came out carrying out Musichetta and asking something of Enjolras and Combeferre. Bahorel helped Feuilly onto the ground by Enjolras, seeming to be listening to whatever Bossuet was saying.

“You can’t go back!” Enjolras protested, trying to get up to stop Bossuet from going back in after he set down Musichetta. Combeferre stopped him from getting up.

“I’m going to get Joly and you can’t fucking stop me.” Bossuet said, before at Bahorel, “You need to help me get the ceiling off of him.”

Feuilly watched as he held his leg, feeling blood beginning to seep through his pants. There was a large gash on his thigh. It must have been from a piece of debris that had hit him. He zoned out momentarily staring at it when Bahorel patted him on the head, “Got it. Be back in a minute babe.” Feuilly wanted to protest, but he was speechless, only able to hold the blood in his leg as he sat there beside Enjolras and Combeferre, watching their leader try in vain to get back up to go after them, disregarding his clearly broken arm. It was times like these Feuilly remembered just how dangerous what they were doing was- and if they hadn’t been paying for it before, they were now. 

…

Late into the night the two men dug through the rubble to find survivors. After Combeferre patched up his leg, Feuilly decided he was fit enough to help his boyfriend as they tried to find anyone left alive- anything salvageable- blankets- something for the last of them, shaken and stranded in the cold desert night.

“It’s all gone…” Bahorel said hoarsely as he pulled a blanket from the rubble, shaking it out. “Just like that.” 

Feuilly stopped digging for a moment to look over the landscape. He saw a hand sticking out from beneath a pillar, still and unmoving. It was someone he’d known- Angelica. He could tell from the rings. He swallowed, “We’ll rebuild. We won’t let them win.” He was taken by surprise as Bahorel pulled him close, hugging him tightly despite the pain it cause both of them due to their burns.

“I could have lost you too.” The man said, burying his face in Feuilly’s curls. The ginger hugged him back tightly.

“But I’m right here.” Feuilly mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment as he took a breath. He shivered as a breeze swept through. He didn’t want to think of what would have happened if he’d lost Bahorel. “We have to keep looking. Someone might still be alive underneath all this.”

Bahorel pulled away, nodding, “Of course.” He sniffled, wiping his face a little. 

After that they did rebuild- they never numbered quite as many but they did get stronger- smarter. It was hard to get over it for everyone, but they were lucky. They had each other. Throughout the next several years Bahorel and Feuilly relied on that. The world could throw whatever it wanted at them, but at the end of the day they could take it as long as they had each other…


	4. Give 'Em Hell, Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Rated T for violence or whatever
> 
> Joly and Bossuet meet in the city and fall in love, despite the danger. Musichetta grows up in the desert with her mother.
> 
> _“Are you hungry?” She asked. The boys looked at each other, seemed to trade looks of confusion. Musichetta wondered if they collected those looks, kept them locked in a box somewhere like her mother’s photos._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I did a good job at all with the characterization, but I tried really hard. I really wanted to make more jokes, but this was a long fucking chapter and I had a deadline, so I'm sorry that it's lacking in hilarity, I promise we'll make it up to you. 
> 
> FredAndGinger

When Bossuet was a kid, he was constantly injured. The agents from Tomorrow Comes actually had to interview him and his parents because they suspected foul play or that he was not taking his medication. It turned out that something about the meds had fucked up the hair in his inner ear before he was born, throwing off his entire sense of balance. It was honestly just his luck, defects like that were very rare since his parent’s generation. 

Luckily, nothing else seemed to be wrong with him. His actual hearing was fine, everything about him was perfectly healthy. Tomorrow Comes couldn’t fix his ears, and besides his accident prone-ness, he was no threat, so they let him be. He grew up happy in the North Sector. He had friends, but none that were really _good_ friends. Not until he met Joly. 

Joly grew up in the richest part of the North Sector. Classism was rampant, he was not to associate with anyone outside of his gifted and talented elementary school. Bossuet, of course, did not attend it. It was a fast track school for the good high school, almost everyone got into said high school, while less than fifty percent of the kids in the other school did. Joly assumed he’d be going as well. 

That was, until he got sick halfway through his eighth grade year. His father, an esteemed doctor, had accidentally brought home some germ he had been working to weaponize and was not as careful as he should have been with it. Joly suffered the consequences and was put into a quarantine building for the majority of a year.

As he had missed school, Joly was sent to the lesser high school, and became his family’s shame. He had been on track to be a doctor, but now he was going to just be an EMT, probably with a job in the factory, where someone could get hurt. 

They’d found that the medication reacted badly with both boys, as it was the reason Bossuet was off balance and the sickness that affected Joly had been specifically designed to react with the meds. They were shoved into the same school, in the same class. 

…

Bossuet was running late. He hated being late, though it was a common occurrence. It was the first day of school though, and he was only going to homeroom, so he thought it would be forgivable. 

He bumped into a locker. Thinking it was a person, he turned to apologize to it while still running. Then he actually ran into someone, sending them both crashing to the floor. Bossuet landed on top of the person, who turned out to be a short asian boy, 

“Ow.” The kid said. 

“Sorry.” Bossuet said, getting up and helping the kid to his feet. 

“Were you apologizing to a locker?” 

“Uh… no?” Bossuet said, not wanting to admit it. “I’m Bossuet, by the way.” 

“Joly.” The kid said, “Where were you going?” 

“Mrs. Smith’s class. I’m a little late.” 

“Wow, good thing you ran into me.” Joly said, “Cause you’re going the wrong way.” 

Bossuet sighed, “This year is starting out just great.” 

“I’m going there too.” Joly said, and started to lead the way to the room. “Homeroom?” 

“Yeah. Getting my class schedule.” 

“Oh cool, which track are you on?” 

“Factory Managerial Supervisor.” Bossuet said, a little embarrassed. True, it was the highest position in factory work, but it was still a factory, low on the scale that measured worth in their city. 

“That’s cool, I’m going to be an EMT.” Joly said, “I was going to be a doctor, but it didn’t work out.” 

“Oh did you fail the aptitude test? That’s what I did.” Bossuet admitted.

“Nah, I got sick. My dad brought home some disease and I got it, just my luck.” Joly said with a bit of a laugh. “I ended up too sick to go to school, and I missed the exams, but they said that my grades were good enough to get me in here, rather than sent to the factory because I failed.” 

“Wow, that sucks. They should have given you more time.” Bossuet said with a frown.

Joly just shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “I can’t fix it, so whatever.” 

“I guess.” Bossuet said as they got to their homeroom. He held open the door. “After you, good sir.” 

“Thank you, good sir.” Joly said, with a little bow. Bossuet giggled. 

After that, and after the teacher called Bossuet “Leg-less” ten times before giving up while Bossuet himself and and Joly laughed, they were friends. 

…

It was hard for Joly to tell when he fell head over heels for his new best friend. Their relaxed course load gave them a lot of time to hang out together, often at the ping pong place. Bossuet sucked, but his good natured laughter every time he hit a ball so that it bounced halfway across the room made him all the more endearing.

Joly would zone out thinking about him. He’d be at the dinner table while his mother talked about their elite class in the society and how she planned to social climb, when he’d suddenly envision a joke that Bossuet might tell about her ridiculous need for status symbols. 

He’d imagine what Bossuet would say as he frowned at his homework, it being mind-numbingly easy. He liked to imagine that Bossuet would understand that Joly was not as okay with being an EMT as he let on. Bossuet would give him a hug and tell him that New Paris’s classist hierarchy was bullshit anyways (even though he had no idea of Bossuet’s ideals, if he even felt anything for the city).

And at night in bed he’d think of Bossuet’s lips on his neck, his hands clumsily raking down his sides. It was a problem. 

…

Bossuet was facing a similar problem. It was just his luck that he’d fall in love with someone so smart and out of his league. He was sure that Joly was against homosexuality, his mother was for sure. He’d heard her rant about it in her little gossipy speeches at Joly’s family dinners. 

Then again, Joly always shot Bossuet looks during the dinners, as though he was trying to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes, so maybe there was some hope. But no, Bossuet refused to get his hopes up. Nothing that good would ever happen, especially not in the city. 

…

For almost a year they danced around each other, trying to convey their emotions through actions without really telling each other anything. They would hold doors open with grand, joking flourishes, buy little presents, celebrate “the anniversary of our friendship”, pay for each other’s meals. 

In their Sophomore year, Bossuet couldn’t take it anymore. They were in his room, joking about some teacher, doing impressions or something equally dumb. He figured that it was do or die time, as Joly had just actually fallen off the bed in a fit of laughter and Bossuet was sure his heart was going to burst, he felt so in love with him at that moment. 

“Hey Joly, I think you’re really cute and I want to kiss you.” He said. 

He promptly wished for death. 

Joly grinned at him though, as if Bossuet had just spouted out the most eloquent love poem. 

“Oh man, I thought I was the only one.” Joly said, sounding elated, before scrambling over to Bossuet so he could press a quick kiss to his lips, before glancing at the door as if afraid someone chose that exact moment to walk in. 

When they were sure that Operatives were not about to arrest them, Bossuet broke into a huge grin. 

“I am so relieved.” He said, putting a hand over his heart, “I was afraid I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up.” Joly assured him. “I promise, you didn’t fuck up.” 

Bossuet didn’t think it was physically possible for his smile to get any wider, but then again he’d flunked physics. 

“Can I kiss you again?” He asked. 

Joly nodded, smiling as wide as he was. Their lips met once more, but they broke apart too quickly, as Joly was giggling. 

“I’m just so happy.” He explained, “I thought you were straight.” 

“I mean I thought I was too, but man… You’re just so awesome.” Bossuet said, taking Joly’s hand. Joly giggled some more and shot a cursory glance at the door. Bossuet would have to be sure to lock it as soon as he could muster up the will to get up away from Joly to do so. 

“You’re awesome too.” Joly said in an awed voice. He cleared his throat a little, awkward. “So… does this mean we’re a thing?” 

“Do you want us to be a thing?” Bossuet asked back, trying to make his eyes convey that he wanted them to be a thing. 

“I want to be a thing.” Joly assured him, “Of course I want to be a thing. But do you want to be a thing? It’s dangerous to be a thing.” 

“I want to be a thing.” Bossuet answered, smiling again. “I’m gonna lock the door so I can kiss you some more.” 

“That is an excellent proposal.” Joly said seriously, and Bossuet got up to do so.

…

Months passed. They dated in secret. Nothing really changed, except behind locked doors. When they had time alone in Bossuet or Joly’s room they were always intimate, in mostly innocent ways. They did not yet know the logistics of homosexual sex, but even when they weren’t experimenting in that, they were always touching. Joly would rest his head in Bossuet’s lap as he told him about his day, Bossuet’s leg would be touching Joly’s while they did homework, Joly would drape himself over Bossuet as they watched videos on Bossuet’s little laptop. 

Sometimes, after R became an underground sensation, they’d go looking for his paintings. When they found them they knew that there were no cameras in the area, R never painted near cameras, they’d know it was safe for them to touch, to hold hands. It was dangerous, to be committing such a small act of intimacy in public, but it was exciting.

…

Homosexuality was not often mentioned. It was scorned, but often people thought of it as one of those disgusting subjects better left alone. This worked well for Joly and Bossuet, as they never had to hear people talk badly of it, save for some rare occasions. 

One of these rare occasions occurred when they were in their Sophomore year. They actually had not yet heard of R, but the school authorities had. And Joly’s mother. Apparently he’d painted a scandalous thing on a building near the TV station, depicting two women who resembled popular TV show actresses making out. Everyone was outraged and the TV station had had to kill off the characters in order for the actresses to be sent to the facility for reconditioning, just in case there was an element of truth to R’s bold statement. 

The city was abuzz with the news. The school had decided to take action, giving an hour and a half long seminar about the subject. 

Joly and Bossuet left sick and sad. There was a little anger mixed in there somewhere, but they’d get to that later. Mostly, they were afraid. Bossuet turned to whisper in Joly’s ear as they left. 

“Do you… do you think they know?” 

“No!” Joly said, pushing as much confidence into his voice as he could muster. “Of course not. If they did, they’d have arrested us on sight.” 

“Oh.” Bossuet said, not sounding too reassured. Joly was about to say more, when he heard someone speak in front of them. 

“Fucking bullshit.” The kid said under his breath. It was that kid that always rumpled and not quite in the correct uniform. They weren’t sure on his name, they didn’t care much about upperclassmen, and he wasn’t on either of their tracks. 

“What?” Joly asked aloud. He was shocked that someone would speak out, but he quickly regretted his decision as the upperclassman turned and looked at him and Bossuet. Joly shifted away from his boyfriend, suddenly aware of how close they had been. 

“I said this was bullshit.” The upperclassman restated, “Two hours of fucking lies. But hey, it beats math class.” The last part was said in bitter sarcasm, as if the kid was mocking something he’d heard someone else say earlier. 

Joly was too stunned to answer, and the kid was soon lost in the crowd. 

“Hey.” Bossuet said after a few moments walking in stunned silence, “At least there’s _someone_ on our side.” 

“I guess.” Joly said, unsure he wanted someone so blatantly reckless on their side, whatever that was. 

… 

As their Sophomore year drew to a close, they ended up at the Ping Pong Palace once more. They were walking close, maybe a little too close, but the crowd covered for them, when they noticed a commotion at the fountain. 

“NO! YOU DON’T CONTROL ME!” 

 

An unfamiliar kid was standing in front of the fountain yelling at an older man with gray hair. What was going on? 

The kid stripped off his shirt and struggled to take off his pants. Joly’s jaw dropped. The crowd around them thickened as people gathered to watched the spectacle. With his pants around his ankles, the kid dove into the fountain.

Joly took a step forward. To do what? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to help this poor misguided soul, obviously there was something very wrong here, but before he could do anything, Operatives arrived and started trying to force the kid out of the fountain and into handcuffs. 

Joly had seen someone being put under arrest exactly once, and it was a family dinner with an uncle that he had been told to never speak of again. This was an entirely different affair. In his childhood memory, his uncle (whose crime was still a mystery to Joly to this day) went quietly, there were no handcuffs, he was treated with respect. This was like watching an awkward animal being forced into submission.

Bossuet watched as the event occurred. This was an entirely new experience and he needed to take it all in. He was absorbed in watching the old man talk to the Operatives, when a hand came out of nowhere and latched onto his shoulder, startling him. 

“Courfeyrac.” A voice said. Bossuet turned around to see a short blond kid, still staring at the scene. He glanced at Bossuet and removed his hand, realizing his error. “Sorry, it was the hair.” 

Bossuet touched his hair, a thin fuzz over the top of his head. “My hair?” 

The blond didn’t seem to hear, making his way over to another kid, who had longer, curly hair. 

“My hair?” Bossuet asked Joly helplessly. Joly appeared to not have been paying attention. 

“Looks great, B.” He said, his eyes fixed on the vehicle taking the fountain kid away. 

…

Summer came and passed. Bossuet swore that that summer was the best of his time in New Paris and Joly would agree. Their parents were all working through the season, meaning that they had their houses to themselves. Whenever their parents ended up being home, they walked the city, looking for R’s paintings. 

It was hard for Operatives to find them. New Paris was a massive city and they couldn’t afford to have Ops just hanging around, looking for paintings, no matter how much they hated them. They similarly could not afford to have every tiny space monitored by cameras or have people to watch them. The city was stuck and it led for some great art. 

Since the beginning of summer R’s paintings seemed to feature a lot of red and gold. They would wonder about symbolism, without ever really looking it up or having real reasoning. They made up complicated backstories for the artist, which changed with every retelling. 

But then, just before their Junior year, the paintings stopped. But not without the grand finale. A blond, someone they recognized from a painting on the wall months back, and someone Bossuet recognized from the scene by the fountain, was painted in glory with his fist held high. 

They found it before the authorities. No one really checked behind the ping pong building aside from maintenance and kids taking shortcuts through the city. New Paris officials were outraged that the thing had stayed up for an entire week and covered it within two hours of it being brought to their attention. 

This didn’t prove to cease Joly and Bossuet’s theories about R. Their most popular and logical one was that he was taken to the facility, where he died. Their other favorite logical theory was that he moved or went to the desert so he wouldn’t be caught. Bossuet’s personal favorite was that R was just an accountant lying low as news of his great masterpiece died down. 

…

A year passed. Joly and Bossuet continued as normal, joking their way through their public life and joking in private with the great perk of being able to hold hands and make out. No one noticed them becoming more close, kind of closing themselves from others. Their parents assumed it was just that they were best friends, though Joly’s mother was pestering him to find a girlfriend, “go look for a girlfriend” (“As if I could just look under some desks or something and a girl with ‘Joly’s girlfriend’ tattooed on her forehead will just pop out yelling ‘you found me!’”)

In actuality their lack of friends was something born in necessity. They could trust no one to keep their secret (except perhaps that upperclassmen who already seemed to be doing a good job not letting the homosexual cat out of the “best friends” bag, but that's likely just because he didn't care, as they never saw him after the summer.) Sure they had friends they joked with at school, but no one as close as they were together. It was honestly kind of lonely. Not that either of them ever wanted to break up or anything, it just… Would be nice to be allowed to have friends.

Over that summer some kids had escaped the city. It was on the news, the footage of some big, burly man letting a car full of teenagers escape into the desert, only to follow them and not return. The news assumed the man was dead, told everyone the teens were armed and dangerous. 

In actuality, (Joly only knew this because his mother loved to gossip as much as he loved to tell stupid puns) the New Paris officials were having a fucking field day. Apparently a bunch of teens and young twenty-somethings saw the event in the news, or heard exaggerated stories by word of mouth, and decided to just leave. It was, compared to the city population on a whole, a rather tiny number, insignificant enough that their lives could be in the statistical margin of error for just exactly how many people were in New Paris. They were written off as never having existed. If their families were in the favorite sectors, they were sent for a quick reconditioning to replace some memories, tell them their kids had died long ago. If they were elites, they were sworn to secrecy. Joly often wondered how his mother found out.

He and Bossuet discussed leaving. It didn't seem worth the risk just yet, they weren't equipped to deal with any of it now, but it kind of seemed like their only option for the future.

“Bossuet, there is no way you can climb a wall.” Joly hissed when Bossuet brought it up again, in school no less. Didn't he know any better? 

“I mean we could try.” Bossuet said. He seemed to be more anxious about everything lately, this was all he could focus on. Joly didn't ask why, because Bossuet tried hard to avoid the topic. On that note, Bossuet had stopped inviting Joly over as often. Joly would have to ask sometime, when they weren't planning an escape in home room.

“What if you fall? There's no do-overs, we get one shot.” Joly pointed out. 

“I couldn't help but overhear,” A girl they occasionally talk to said, causing them to whip around and face her with wide eyes, “are you guys… Trying to leave the city?” She lowered her voice to the quietest whisper at the last part. 

Joly froze he glanced at Bossuet, who nodded, ever so slightly. The girl smiled. 

“Thank goodness.” She breathed, “I was afraid I'd blown my cover.” She tapped at her ring, a nervous habit. “There's a way out that's not the wall. I'm leaving tonight, so I figured you might want to know.”

“We do.” Bossuet said. Joly looked at him again, not sure if he was upset or impressed by all of this. It was dangerous. 

“Good.” She said. “Okay, you know the convenience store on the edge of the north and south sectors? In the west area? The one with the weird lollipop on top that says ‘toots’ on it?”

Bossuet and Joly both nodded.

“Go to the alley behind it and count to the fifteenth tile, five up. It's a weird brick texture, don't ask me why. Press that tile and walk straight. Apparently the guy smuggles something. He doesn't know we’re using the passage, so don't let him find out.” She warned. 

“Thanks.” Bossuet said, gratitude apparent through the single word. Joly nodded. She smiled. 

“See you guys on the other side.”

The bell rang and class dispersed. True to her word, the girl was not there the next day. Her name, Angelica, was called for role, and that was enough proof for Joly that she'd gotten out safely. If she'd been captured by the facility, she wouldn't be marked absent.

Still, they decided to wait.

… 

A month passed. Bossuet was still on edge. His parents were getting suspicious, he'd accidentally brushed Joly’s hand at dinner and forgot to apologize. Actually, neither of them had reacted to it. His parents thought it strange. He'd been trying not to let Joly know how worried he was, he was probably imagining the suspicion. Still, better to be safe. 

All his efforts for caution were thrown out the window one night after dinner at his house. He’d forgotten to lock his bedroom door, and Joly was sitting on his bed with him. They weren't even doing anything bad, just holding hands, but it was enough to condemn them if seen. 

Joly leaned over and kissed Bossuet's cheek, just because he could, when the door burst open. Joly and Bossuet wrenched their hands apart as though the other was made of fire and set a respectable distance, but the damage was done. 

Bossuet’s parents closed the door. Joly looked at Bossuet, terror in his eyes. 

“Go.” Bossuet said, pointing to his window. It was on the ground floor, easy to escape, “Meet me… Meet me by the fountain.”

Joly nodded, opening the window. He cast one last look at Bossuet, before climbing out, running most of the way home.

…

Joly reached his house, breathing hard. He ran snuck past his mother, he had no idea if Bossuet’s parents had called her and the woman seemed able to smell guilt. He got up to his room, then promptly ran to the bathroom to throw up, shaking. His mother rushed in. 

“Sweetie.” She said, falling on her knees and patting him comfortingly on the back, “Sweetie, are you sick? Do you need me to report your symptoms?” 

He shook his head. One of the constant side effects to the disease he’d had was that the contentment medication mixed with the residue of it (or of the antibiotics) made him feel nausea from time to time. He’d never been more grateful. 

“It’s nothing, mom.” He said, more to the toilet than to her, “I just overexerted myself.” 

His mother cooed, continuing to rub his back. It felt like fire, like she was going to snatch her hand up any moment and tell him to get out of her house, that he was a disgrace and unwelcome in her home. It made him want to throw up all over again. 

“I’m gonna go to bed.” He said, after he brushed his teeth and rinsed out his mouth. “I might take a walk later though. The fresh air…” 

“Of course, sweetie.” His mother said, “I’ll write you a note in case you have to be out past curfew.”

One of the perks of being a child of someone so elite: factory kids would never have gotten away with any of that nonsense. 

“Thanks mom.” He said, nearly choking on her name. In a matter of hours this would all be over, he was so doomed. He went back to his room. 

There was no use in pouting on his bed, dwelling. He dumped his school supplies out of his bag, packing some clothes, his money, anything that seemed useful and necessary. He glanced longingly at his phone, at his laptop, but he knew there was no way, they all had trackers. He left them. 

He was about to leave when he remembered that they had done first aid stuff at school and they’d given him a first aid kit. He dug it out from under his bed, where he’d kept it in case Bossuet hurt himself on something (a common enough occurrence) and had promptly forgotten it. On a whim he pulled out the first aid manual as well, shoving the thin book in the bag, praying the material didn’t burst. 

His mother had left the note on the table. He was grateful, he didn’t want to explain why he was carrying a huge backpack or why he had on a coat even though it was a warm night. He grabbed it and left, never even looking back at the copy-and-pasted house that had served as his home for his whole life. 

…

Bossuet ran to the fountain, tripping like twice and getting up to continue. He got there, out of breath and wheezing, only to find that Joly was nowhere to be seen. He sunk down to the ground, trying to convince his lungs that they weren’t actually dying, and reflected on what was happening. 

He couldn’t believe it. Everything had been fine that morning, and now… well everything was changed. This train of thought was not helping his breathing. 

Joly came up to the fountain with a full backpack. Bossuet cursed himself for not thinking ahead, he’d only grabbed a jacket and all of his money. But he was glad Joly understood the gravity of the situation. Of course Joly understood, he told himself, Joly was so much smarter than he was. 

“Joly.” He called, standing up. Joly started, as though he expected an Operative to be the one who was lurking by the fountain like a brooding teenager. 

“Bossuet.” Joly said, the relief tangible in his voice, “I was so worried.” 

“Same here.” Bossuet said, taking a step forward and grabbing Joly into a hug. It was risky, there were probably cameras in the area, but he figured that no one could force them into the facility if they made it out of the city tonight, and that’s what they were doing, right? 

“So we’re running away?” Bossuet asked, hopeful. Joly didn’t make fun of him for the obvious question, just nodded. 

“What did your parents say?” 

Bossuet winced and pulled away from the hug. “They uh… they were going to turn us in at the end of the week. Wanted us to finish the school week for some reason. I think… I think they want to give themselves time to think of what to do, but I don’t want to waste time hanging around, you know?” 

Joly nodded again, understanding. 

“So how are we escaping?” Bossuet asked after a moment. “Do we have a plan?” 

“I think the passage Angelica told us about is our best bet.” Joly said, looking towards where they had to go. “It’s either that or climb the wall and…” 

“Yeah, Angelica’s way.” Bossuet said, nodding. “Let’s go.” 

They started out for the border between the sectors, trying to keep to the shadows and out of sight of the Operatives. This lasted for about all of three minutes. They a few blocks away and Bossuet bumped into Joly, who bumped into a streetlamp with a loud clang, which caused an Operative to rush over. 

Bossuet dove into an alley, but when he looked behind him Joly was still standing under the lamp. Had his boyfriend freaked out? Was he frozen? Bossuet contemplated going over, but it seemed like Joly and the Operative were having a conversation. Joly pulled out a piece of paper and the Operative took a moment to read it, before handing it back to Joly and patting him companionably on the shoulder. The Operative then walked away. 

After a moment, Joly walked over to Bossuet, who was scraping his metaphorical jaw off the pavement. 

“What the fuck?” He whispered faintly. Joly shrugged, as though he hadn’t enacted a small miracle. 

“Let’s go.” He said, leading the way. For lack of a better option, Bossuet followed. Did Joly have some secret spy card? Was he an Op in disguise running a long con on Bossuet? He had so many questions. Maybe it was a get out of gay free card. 

They arrived at the shop and followed Angelica’s instructions, pressing the tile. If it hadn’t sunk in little, they’d be sure it didn’t work, as the wall seemed unchanged. 

“Ready?” Joly asked.

“Hey!” Someone behind them yelled. Bossuet whipped around to see a man coming out of the shop. Joly shoved him through the wall and they took off running. 

They didn't stop for a good five minutes. When they turned around, no one was following them. They slowed their pace. After walking a few minutes, they stopped to look around. Aside from the road, there seemed to be no sign that humans even existed. 

“So…” Bossuet said finally, looking at his boyfriend, who was frowning at the desert. “Do we have a plan?”

“Nope!” Joly said, the frown falling from his face. Bossuet grinned. 

… 

Musichetta was born and raised in the desert. She was a legal citizen, she went to school and took her pills, and everything was fine. She was raised by her mother, who didn’t seem to have any family. When Musichetta asked about her father, her mother had replied that he had been an Operative, and would give no other answer.

What Musichetta and her mother lacked in family, they made up in friends. Musichetta was a sociable person, she befriended people easily, and people were always coming to her house for dinner and conversation with her mother. She grew up happy. 

When she was thirteen, Musichetta finally got answers to questions she never thought to ask. It turned out that her mother had been helping the ever-present rebellion, that her father had been caught for doing the same and now lived in the city, working as an Operative. He and her mother still talked on the phone once in awhile, but since he had been reconditioned and lost a good part of his memory, he did not know about her mother’s pursuits in helping the resistance, and he barely remembered he had a daughter. He would often implore her mother to join him in the city, and she would always refuse and remind him of Musichetta. When reminded of Musichetta, he would grow quiet and agree that she should stay in the desert, though he wasn’t sure why. 

From then on, Musichetta helped her mother to help the rebels. They were scattered and unorganized, something that privately infuriated Musichetta (how were they supposed to get anything done if they didn’t work together?) but she loved to help. She wanted what they wanted, a beautiful new world where everyone lived in harmony, free of the drugs that clouded her mind, free of Tomorrow Comes, which sucked the color out of her life in her school. 

At fifteen, Musichetta’s mom offered to let her leave school. Musichetta thought long and hard before reaching her decision. This school was not like school in the city, the curriculum was very slow, but she could socialize without fear from cameras. She had met many like minded friends, the best of which was Vincent. Vincent was great, whenever they talked it felt like a mind meld. When they had discussions with their whole group, it felt like the rest of the world fell away and it was just the two of them. Musichetta may have had a bit of a crush. She was reluctant to leave, to let their daily meetings dwindle, but she had never been any good at school anyways, and her mother was struggling to help the rebels and to pay her debts. Musichetta left school. 

Vincent still visited her, and she often talked to her group of friends. By the time they were seventeen, however, most of them had left school to work or to leave the grasp of Tomorrow Comes. Vincent, and her other friends, slowly stopped visiting, until he was the only one who still came by, and even then it was only every few months. 

When she was sixteen, Musichetta and her mother met a curious kid named Marius, who had run from the city. They offered him a place to stay, and he stayed with them for around a month before finding his own place and seeming to forget about them. Things returned to normal, but Musichetta missed having someone around to talk to other than her mother. 

…

“Mom, how did you meet my dad?” Musichetta asked. She was fifteen years old, fresh out of her decision to leave school, and she wanted a story to take her mind off how shitty her first odd job had been. Her mother smiled and walked to her bedroom, returning with a beat up shoe box. 

“I didn’t want you to know this when you were younger.” Her mother explained, “I didn’t know if you could keep secrets. But you’re a woman now, with your own job. So I guess you’re ready.” 

Musichetta’s mother pulled a picture out of the box. It was taken with a polaroid camera, so Muschetta knew it was taken in the desert, despite the white walls. It seemed like a wedding, but Musichetta’s mom was very pregnant. Her father, who she’d never laid eyes on, was beaming. He had Musichetta’s nose, and her hair. 

“He was handsome.” Musichetta’s mom said wistfully, “And I loved him. We’d gotten married about a month before he was taken away, you were born two days later.” 

So they’d never met. Musichetta had never been sure about that. 

“Why’d they take him and not you?” Musichetta asked, looking up from the picture. Her mother was toying with a moth-eaten veil, the one she’d been wearing in the picture. It must have come from the box. 

“He lied and told them I didn’t know anything, that I was just security so he wouldn’t be caught.” Musichetta’s mother said. “It was true, in a way. I didn’t know the extent to which he disagreed with Tomorrow Comes, I didn’t know he was meeting with rebels in our home. I thought they were his friends.” 

She sighed and put the veil back into the box, pulling out a picture of her father holding a little brown baby. Musichetta supposed that the baby was her, she was mistaken, she had met the man after all. 

“He visited once. After he was reconditioned. He held you for a bit and asked me to come to the city with him. I told him that I wasn’t going to force you to live there, under all that bullshit. He didn’t report me, so some of him had to be in there after all. He even agreed, in his own way. He nodded a little, told me to take care of you.” Her mother said. “He told me to tell you that you could always live with him if you changed your mind when you were older.” 

Musichetta frowned. She hated the desert’s heat and lack of life, but there was no way she was going to live in the city. The thought appalled her. 

“I like it here.” She said. Her mother looked up from the pictures in the box. There were stacks of them, Musichetta recognized her child self in most of them. She always wondered where her mom put pictures after she’d taken them. 

“I like it here too.” She replied. “But I never answered your question, I forgot sweetie. You wanted to know how we met.” 

“Yes.” 

“We met at school.” Her mother said, “Though he didn’t go to school. He had to work. He’d taken a job as a janitor and basically swept me off my feet. Literally. With one of those industrial brooms.” 

Musichetta laughed. “Seriously?” 

“I’m very serious.” Her mother said jokingly, “I would never lie about romance.” 

“That’s not very romantic.”

“To each their own.” Her mother shrugged. “After he apologized for knocking me over, he asked me out. We got married a year later.” 

“Wait…” Musichetta frowned. “How old were you?” 

“Eighteen.” Her mom replied. “I was a senior when we met. Actually a second year senior, sorry, you get your brains from me. I was never good at math.” 

…

Things went well. She tried not to notice that her friends no longer visited her. Musichetta and her mother threw themselves into the rebellion, helping people as much as they could, trying to convince them to get organized. 

The Amis started up. Five kids from the city asked them for help finding a place, and after they offhandedly mentioned Valjean, the group began to grow. Vincent visited Musichetta to tell her he was joining, along with some of her other school friends. She hadn’t seen him for months, and with his greasy hair and fuck-you attitude she wondered why she had had such a huge crush on him. 

The Amis asked Musichetta’s mom for help, sort of just help recruiting, help finding jobs. Her mother was happy to oblige, but Musichetta was a little wary. Her friends were good people, and she supported them, but she was a little unsure about their leader. And they kept going out and killing Operatives. She disapproved of that, she knew the Operatives they were terrible, but they were just doing their job. So Musichetta focused on helping other rebels while her mother took care of helping the Amis. 

Vincent was the one to visit every time the Amis wanted something. This made Musichetta happy and irritated her all at once, this reminder of her past crush who she always missed, but she knew that they only sent him because they wanted to garner her mother’s sympathy. He would always try to convince Musichetta to join his side, join the Amis, hate them a little less. At the same time he’d be asking for help, and he seemed to have a condescending air now, as if he was better than them because he’d attached himself to a reckless man’s cause. Eventually Musichetta got sick of it.

“Vincent.” She said, interrupting his speech about how it didn't matter that they were killing Operatives, those weren't really people anyways. “Get out of my house.”

“But you mom needs-” he began. Her mother had gone to retrieve something or another for him, but she couldn't bring herself to care. 

“I'll tell her you’re gone.” Musichetta said, crossing her arms, “Come back when you're not such an asshole.”

Vincent, confused, left. Musichetta sighed after the door closed. She supposed she was a little harsh. He didn't know her father was an Op, he didn't know he was offending her. But still, how could they be fighting for a better tomorrow by just killing everyone with a different opinion? That was how Tomorrow Comes came into its power, couldn't they see that they were wrong?

Her mother came back in, lugging a heavy cardboard box. “Where'd your boy go?”

…

Vincent didn't return for a week. Musichetta carried on as if she didn't care, though she really wanted to explain her situation to him. She wanted him to know why she was mad, so he could better understand. She had no idea where the Amis lived though, so she couldn't even contact him if she wanted to.

She busied herself with odd jobs. Another week passed with no sign of her friend. She was headed home one day, when she saw a white car parked in the drive. The side was emblazoned with Tomorrow Comes’ logo.

She ran to the door and stopped, trying to steady her breaths and hear what was going on inside her house. She could hear the faint murmur of speech. Maybe it was a home inspection. Aside from an assortment of weird things, her home was free of anything incriminating. She tried to calm herself and quietly opened the door. 

She crept to the kitchen, the source of the voices, and saw an Operative there. He wasn't wearing his face mask, which was weird, but she couldn't see who he was, only short, dark hair. 

“You must comply with the rules, Julianne. They want me to kill you if you don't. Just tell me where those kids are hiding. I won't even tell them you did anything wrong, you won't even have to go to the facility.” The man coaxed. It was strange to hear her mother’s first name. Generally Ops addressed them by their last name.

“I won't tell you anything.” Her mother said, “Now put that gun down before you hurt yourself.”

This only seemed to anger the man. “Julianne, you have to take this seriously. I have direct orders to kill you.”

“Tell them I don't know.”

“We both know that's a lie.”

“Tell them anyways.”

“If you don't know you’re to be sent to the facility.”

Her mother scoffed, “Like hell. If you try to put me there I'll kill myself.”

It occurred to Musichetta that neither of them knew she was there, she would have been acknowledged by now. She took a step back, thinking to grab her mother’s gun, and the floor creaked. Her mother and the man turned to look at her. 

“How long have you been there?” The man, who she now recognized as her father, demanded. Musichetta found herself mute.

“She has nothing to do with this, she doesn't know anything.” Her mother said, drawing her father’s attention back. “You think I would endanger her like that?”

“I don't know. You've made some bad decisions, Julianne.” He answered gravely. 

“Well, you used to tell me to live without regrets.”

“I regret saying that.”

There was a pause. Musichetta though of the gun once more. 

“You're not going to tell me.” Her father said.

“No, Will. I'm not going to tell you.” Her mother said, “So get out of my house.” 

The man cast a regretful glance at Musichetta, then pulled his trigger. Her mother wore an expression of shock, as though she'd forgotten his gun. Her hands flew up, as if to cradle her chest, and she crumpled to the floor. 

“MOM!” Musichetta cried, running forward. She fell to her knees, adding pressure to the gushing wound. Her mother made a choked noise.

“How old are you?” Her father asked. When she looked up, Musichetta saw that he wasn't looking at her. He couldn't even meet her eyes. 

“Eighteen.” She replied, automatic. He nodded. 

“You've been taking your meds?” He asked. She nodded, a lie. He nodded once more. Their first exchange, a conversation of nods. 

“Stay out of trouble.” He said, and left.

…

It turned out that no one wanted Joly and Bossuet to find the Amis. Well, they didn't know the name of the Amis at first, or even that they were a thing. A ginger kid named Jehan had told them all about the Amis (or as much as he knew) and directed them to stay at this abandoned house for a week, bringing them food as if they were secret pets, but they figured they'd never find these mythical Amis by sitting around. 

Their money lasted them about three weeks. On week four, they had about 20 dollars between them and no place to sleep. Joly was contemplating selling his backpack and everything in it just for some actual food, weighing the pros and cons of eating another can of dog chow, when they heard someone yelling. 

“Help!” The voice, a girl, cried. Joly and Bossuet glanced at each other. They’d been in the wastelands, especially this area, long enough to know that help often didn’t come in time. “Please!” 

Joly took off, Bossuet close behind. They made it there to see a beautiful girl with long brown curls drenched in blood. 

“What’s wrong, what’s going on?” Bossuet asked, out of breath as the girl ran, leading them towards a house. 

“Are you hurt?” Joly asked. The girl might have shook her head, but they were running, so it was hard to tell. She let them into a house and they followed, unquestioning. There they found another woman, who looked like the girl except a little darker, bleeding on the floor, holding onto her chest limply. 

“It’s my mom.” The girl said as Joly fell to his knees, swinging off his backpack in one fluid motion and digging for the first aid kit. They hadn’t needed to use it, a small miracle, so most of his supplies were there. 

It seemed like the mother had a sucking chest wound, it was pulling in air and her lung may be collapsed or on its way to collapse. He grabbed a compression pack and moved the mother’s hand away, ripping her shirt open and holding the pack to the wound. 

“How long has she been like this?” He asked. The girl shook her head. 

“I… half an hour? Maybe?” She stared at her mother’s unmoving body, “She… she’s still alive, right?” 

“She’s still alive.” Joly confirmed. The woman on the ground was still breathing, though it sounded faint and ragged. Joly had been too busy trying to keep her blood in her body that he hadn’t thought to check her pulse. He did so and counted her heartbeats against his watch as well as he could, frowning. Her heart was beating very slowly. That wasn’t good. It should be beating fast, panicked. He assumed shock had set in. 

The mother made a noise in her throat as though she wanted to speak, but blood gurgled from her mouth instead. The girl took in a sharp breath. 

“Mom, mom you gotta get through this.” She said faintly. She stayed back, as if she trusted Joly to bring her mother back from the face of death. Joly knew he couldn’t. It would take a Tomorrow Comes hospital to cure her, and even then… 

“Will.” The mother said, past the blood. Her eyes had taken on a faraway quality and Joly was unsure how to get them back. They wandered, searching for whoever Will was, and their gaze fixed on Joly. “You.” 

“Me?” He asked, eyebrows shooting up. Joly was having a weird day, but he was pretty sure that he wasn’t Will. 

“Take care of my girl.” The woman gasped out, glaring. The glare softened into a dull gaze and she coughed, more blood dripping across her lips. “Will.” 

Her breathing stopped. 

“Bossuet!” Joly said. Bossuet was at his side. “Hold down the pack, tight. I need to do CPR.” 

Bossuet nodded. Joly took checked the woman’s pulse. He was pretty sure there wasn’t one, but his hands were shaking badly. He took a deep breath and blew all of his air into her lungs, before beginning compressions. Her lips tasted like metal. 

He counted. That was what he was supposed to do, he knew. He didn’t know why he was counting so loudly though. It seemed to ring in his ears. Counting forever. His arms ached, it felt like he was climbing a mountain, chasing this woman’s soul to bring her back. 

“Joly.” Bossuet said eventually, “It’s been ten minutes.” 

He glanced at the digital watch on his wrist. Bossuet was right. There was no bringing her back. He tried once more in vain, one more round. It did nothing. 

…

Musichetta let out a sob and sank to the floor. She wanted to beg these boys to do more, to bring her back, but she knew from the moment her mother was shot that it was too late. Her father… that man would not have left if he thought she would survive. 

The kid who had been doing the CPR sat back on his heels, looking at her mother. He closed her eyes. Musichetta thanked him internally. She didn’t want to see her mother like that. 

There was a silence, broken only by her breathing as she tried to pull herself together. She allowed herself exactly one minute of this childish crying, before wiping her eyes and getting up. She walked to her mother’s bedroom, the boys’ eyes on her, and grabbed the sheet from her bed, bringing it back to drape over the body. She really did not want to see her mother like that. 

After she’d tucked her mother under the blanket and coughed to cover a last, pathetic sob, she turned to the boys. 

“Thank you.” She said, “I’m Musichetta.” 

“I’m Bossuet.” Said the boy with short hair, “This is Joly. We’re, uh… from the city.” 

“Oh.” She said. She’d never met someone straight from the city, except in passing. “Where do you live?” 

“Nowhere.” The one called Joly said. “We, um, haven’t found a place.” 

She frowned. These two seemed ill at ease, and she wanted them to feel welcome. Her mother told her to make guests feel welcome. She clung to that. (Musichetta knew, somewhere in her mind, that this was not the textbook definition of grief, she should not be making small talk. But she’d always been an odd one.) 

“Are you hungry?” She asked. The boys looked at each other, seemed to trade looks of confusion. Musichetta wondered if they collected those looks, kept them locked in a box somewhere like her mother’s photos. 

“No?” Joly said, “Are you alright?” 

“I…” She began, before glancing at her mother’s shroud, the blue of the sheet turning dark with blood. “I don’t know.” 

“Maybe you want to get out of those bloody clothes?” Bossuet suggested. 

Musichetta nodded numbly and began to take off her shirt. The boys made a choked noise in unison. She looked at them questioningly, before remembering something she’d heard in passing about people from the city being more modest. 

“Oh.” She said. “I’m going to take a shower. You, um. You can take some too. After.” 

“Okay.” The boys said, in that eerie unison. She nodded at them and left. 

She sat in the shower for a long time. She didn’t realize how long it would take to passively let the blood run off of her body. The fact that she accidentally wore her shorts in the shower didn’t help. She rinsed her clothes, except for the shirt she’d left in the kitchen, and sat. It wasn’t childish to cry in the shower, in the shower no one knew they were tears. 

Her mother had taught her that crying was a sign of weakness. Musichetta had found that this was her mother’s own personal belief, as the general population didn’t hold the same standard. Her mother told her that if they were to be taken seriously, they could not be like those weepy characters on the TVs in New Paris. They had to be strong, stronger than the men. They had to break the stereotype. 

Musichetta was never sure if she agreed, but now was not the time to open that can of worms. She had to pretend to be strong now, and when she felt better she would reevaluate her belief system on crying. 

When she was done, she sat in the bathroom for a few long minutes, contemplating whether or not to put on the bloody clothes. She left in a towel, hoping not to offend these boys, and retreated to her room. 

… 

“What do we do?” Bossuet asked, after Musichetta left, abandoning them with a body. “Should we leave?” 

“I don’t think she wants us to leave.” Joly said, “And her mom told us… told me to take care of her. So I’m not leaving.”

“Maybe… maybe we should clean up?” Bossuet suggested after a moment of silence. 

After a little bit of digging, they found some cleaners and rags under the sink. It was a relief that some things stayed the same, no matter where you were. They got to work cleaning up the blood, and moved the body on top of a garbage bag so it wouldn’t continue to bleed all over the floor. Joly didn’t know when or if people stopped bleeding after they died, they never really covered it in his classes. 

For lack of options, Joly threw Musichetta’s shirt into the sink to soak. Cold water, he remembered that from his own mother. It was a white shirt, they could bleach it and the blood might come out. 

As he contemplated this, Musichetta reemerged, her hair hanging damp across her shoulders, and in torn up, bright clothing. Joly was a little taken aback, in New Paris they were all but forced to wear black in mourning, to do anything else was to break those unspoken rules that he’d tried so hard to abide by in his mother’s house. 

“Oh.” She said, sounding a little shocked. Joly glanced around the kitchen. Maybe he and Bossuet had gone a little overboard. They’d finished cleaning up the blood before she got out of the shower, so they’d decided to clean the whole room. Joly supposed it must have been kind of weird. 

“Um… feeling any better?” Bossuet asked. Joly thanked him silently for saying something, the silence had grown strange. 

“Yeah.” She said, “We’ll have the funeral at twilight. Uh… I better find her some stuff. I, uh. I hate to ask, but can you guys help me put some stuff on her? I really… I just…” 

“No problem.” Bossuet said, cutting her off. She looked at him gratefully, as Joly shot him a similar look. 

Musichetta’s requests were simple. She asked them to put her mother in this flowery robe thing (“I mean, I don’t want you to have to change her clothes, but she _hated_ that shirt and I didn’t want her to go to the afterlife without some style”), put some jewelry on her, and move her to the the woman’s bedroom so they didn’t have to stare at her. Before they got the sheet off, Musichetta had disappeared and didn’t reappear for two hours, leaving Bossuet and Joly, again, with a dead body. 

To escape it, they took a shower. It was the first one since Jehan’s place, and it was actually warm. They didn’t want to waste time, or Musichetta’s water, so they showered together. It seemed like no one in the wastelands would have questioned it anyways. They were quiet, it was weird. 

…

Musichetta walked back into her house. The grave was dug, her hands were covered in blisters, and her clothes were dirty. She realized that she had no idea how her mother contacted her friends, or how to find the Amis, or how to ask anyone at all for help or what to do. Her mother was a permanent figure, and now that she was gone, it was like the world was no longer real. 

She changed into the darkest clothes she could find. It was useless, all this changing. She’d have to wash, and it wasn’t like there was anyone here to witness this besides two city boys. She could have worn whatever she wanted. It felt disrespectful to ignore those few traditions her mother so firmly upheld, however, so she changed. 

It was awkward to have these strangers hanging out, waiting to bury her mother. Everything about it was weird. They were very nice though. The nicest people she’d met in a long time. 

“I’m making dinner. You guys allergic to anything?” She asked, turning and looking through the pantry. 

“Allergic?” Bossuet asked as Joly responded “No.” 

She laughed a little in disbelief, “I forgot you’re from the city. You don’t have allergies, huh?” 

“Nope.” Joly said. Bossuet still looked confused. 

“Lucky bastards.” She said with a slight smile, opening a big can of ravioli and putting it on the oven to heat. She actually enjoyed cooking, but she was too exhausted to do that right now. She just wanted to eat, and fast. Couldn’t miss twilight. 

The boys seemed to think her comment was amusing, for a reason she couldn’t fathom. As the ravioli warmed up, she turned to talk to them. 

“So you’ve never been to a funeral in the wastelands, have you?” She asked. They shook their heads. “Well, normally there’s a lot of drinking, but I don’t actually know how to contact any of her friends, so no one’s going to come over with booze, sadly. The other main part is that we bury our dead at twilight. My mom said that it’s because of the wars, but I’m not really sure on that whole story.” 

“The wars?” Joly asked, confused. 

“Jeez, they really don’t teach you anything in those fancy classes, huh?” She asked, happy she could be the smartest, or at least the wisest, in the room for a change. It was a new experience. “A long time ago, there were all these battles…”

…

Time passed quickly. Musichetta regaled them with tales of the wastelands, a history they’d never been taught. Bossuet and Joly kept her mind occupied, asking questions and making small jokes. It was strange, how easily they could take her mind off of all that had happened that day. She supposed it was because everything felt rather unreal. Before they knew it, they’d eaten their dinner and the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. 

Musichetta asked the boys to carry the body. Not that she wasn’t capable, she just, again, really didn’t want to. They set her in the grave with as much grace as they could manage. It was only a few feet deep, so she didn’t have far to go. 

There was a moment of silence. Musichetta had explained to them that they weren’t supposed to talk. She steeled herself, before bending down and removing the sheet from her mother’s face. They were supposed to be able to “see”. 

Her mother looked asleep. Musichetta had seen dead people before, she’d been to funerals, but never someone quite as dark as her mother. Normally the people looked pale, dead, but her mom just looked like she was resting. Musichetta almost wanted to ask her to wake up, but she knew better. It wasn’t as bad, seeing her, as she’d thought it’d be. But it felt a little more real. 

She tucked the sheet around her mom, as if she was tucking her in for a sick day, their roles reversed. She kissed her mother’s forehead, and got up. She began to fill the hole. 

She didn’t realize Joly and Bossuet were helping until after her mother was fully covered, when they were just evening out the ground. The sun set quickly, but they finished before the final rays were gone.

…

The next day, Musichetta did not feel any better. Waking up felt like she’d left a nightmare only to find that something even worse was waiting for her. She met Joly and Bossuet, who had been sleeping in the living room, to find they’d made her breakfast. 

“So.” She said, after accepting a plate of rehydrated scrambled eggs, “Why are you in the wastelands, boys? You don’t seem suited for all of this.” She waved her fork around to indicate the desert in general. 

“Well,” Joly said, seeming to search for his words, “We didn’t want to come out here as unprepared as we were, but the situation… was kind of grim.” 

This peaked her interest. These boys seemed like such trusting, nice kids, why would they be in trouble? 

“We were going to be sent to the facility.” Bossuet said. The other boy nodded, “Because we kind of broke the law?” 

“What law did you break?” She asked, shoveling more eggs into her mouth. They were pretty disgusting. 

“Oh, we’re gay.” Joly said, “I thought everyone could tell.” 

“Oh.” Musichetta said, taking a drink so she could think of a response. She didn’t know gay people existed in the city, it seemed a foreign concept. Like only people in the wasteland were afforded that liberty. It made sense, though, what with how touchy-feely they were. People from the city generally had more boundaries, their casual touches probably seemed like outright intimacy or something. 

She swallowed her water. “I couldn’t tell, by the way. But how did that cause you to go to the desert? Were you like ‘I’m gay, you’re gay, let’s get the fuck out’?” She asked. 

Bossuet laughed, “Nah. We dated a little bit, but my parents saw us kiss.” 

“Yep, they were gonna send us away, so we just decided to run for it.” Joly added. 

“Oh.” Musichetta said, that made a lot of sense. “So, where are you going to go?” 

“We were looking for the Amis.” Joly said, “People say that they take runaways in for free, and we heard they’re fighting for a good cause.” 

Musichetta scoffed, her automatic response to any mention of the Amis, but then she paused. She really had only been on the Operatives’ side because of her father, and where had that gotten her? It killed her mom and left her alone in the world. Maybe the Amis were right, maybe the world was better off without them. 

Bossuet and Joly were looking at her curiously, but she just sort of shook her head. “Yeah, a few of my friends joined up, but I never cared about them so I never found out anything. Sorry guys.” 

“Well, we’ve been looking for them for a month with no leads. We kind of think they’re made up.” Bossuet joked, “Too much of a legend to be real.” 

“Well, if you’ve got nowhere to go, you’re welcome to stay here. I’ve got plenty of space, besides.” She swallowed, glancing at her mother’s room, “It’ll be kind of lonely.” 

…

Joly and Bossuet agreed to stay. After a week, they’d found a good routine. Joly and Bossuet would go off to find jobs for the day and Musichetta would stay back, constructing things to sell or trying to contact her rebel friends. She was glad that they seemed to have some old fashioned values ingrained into their minds, something about the women staying home (it obviously came from the Tomorrow Comes sponsored movies), because it gave her time alone to grieve. 

A month went by, and though she told her new friends that she was fine, she was doing stuff during the day, she was actually using their departure to cover up her depression. She would sleep most of the day away, put forth a minimal effort into being any sort of help, and then feel immensely guilty when they came back, tired. 

They found out eventually. Bossuet couldn’t find work one day and came home, finding Musichetta sobbing into her pillow. He had no idea what to do, if he should comfort her or not. He decided that he shouldn’t just leave her crying, that would suck for everyone, and he sat next to her on the bed, putting a hand lightly on her shoulder. The sobs stopped immediately. Bossuet was a little impressed. 

“Bossuet?” She asked. He was also impressed that she could tell it was him when she wasn’t looking at him at all. “How long were there?” 

“Not long.” He assured her. “It’s okay to be sad. You can cry if you want to.” 

“No.” She said, sniffling to reign in a sob. Him being nice was not helping her to stop crying. “No, I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not fine.” Bossuet said, “That’s why we’re in the desert. So we don’t have to be fine all the time.” 

This was true. She remembered the hazy drugs of her childhood and the absolute fine-ness brought along with it. She kind of preferred that to how she felt now, however. 

“Maybe I want to be fine.” She said, softly, “Then I’d be doing something.” 

Bossuet frowned. What exactly wasn’t she doing? “What?” 

“I’ve just been sleeping all day, every day!” She confessed, putting her hand on top of Bossuet’s. “I lied, I haven’t been trying to find rebels, and I only do a little bit of work. But if I don’t find the rebels, you’ll never be able to leave, but I don’t really want you to go, I don’t know what I’d do if I were alone!” 

“Oh.” Bossuet said, before awkwardly rubbing his hand on her arm. He was still getting the hang of the whole outward-displays-of-affection thing. “Don’t worry about that, we’ll stay as long as you want us to!” 

“No, I don’t want to make you guys stay!” She protested, turning to look at him, “I don’t want to trap you!” 

“We’re not trapped, do we seem trapped? No, we want to stay with you, Chetta.” Bossuet assured her, “When Joly gets home he’ll tell you the same thing!” 

Musichetta seemed to think this over. Bossuet assumed he’d won this argument, and was unsure of what to do now. She looked up at him again. 

“Can you give me a hug? Please?” She asked. A simple request. 

“Of course.” He said. Musichetta sat up and practically launched herself at him, wrapping him tight in her arms. Hugs had been a staple of her relationship with her mom and the lack of human contact was honestly unnerving. 

Bossuet patted her back in what he hoped was a comforting way. After a few minutes she pulled back. 

“Thanks.” She said, wiping her eyes, “I needed that.” 

“No problem.” Bossuet replied, “And it’s fine if you’re sad. We don’t expect you to be happy all the time or anything, we just want you to feel better eventually.”

 _Eventually_ Musichetta mulled over the word as Bossuet left to get her some water. That seemed like a much more achievable goal. 

…

After another month, Joly decided he needed to have a conversation with Bossuet. She’d gotten much better over the last month, she felt less terrible about her mother’s death and her own depression. She seemed happier, more willing to joke with them and laugh. 

The thing was, Joly found her beyond beautiful. She seemed like the night sky brought down to earth, like the moon herself. He had vivid daydreams of her descending from the night sky in white, the stars in her hair. 

He also knew that he liked her for more than her beauty. Despite how she dropped out of school, she knew more things than Joly ever could have learned in the city. She was a total badass, and she was the best shot he’d ever seen. She was also quick-witted as hell, though she didn’t always understand their puns. 

“Bossuet.” He said, when they were going to bed one night. They’d taken over Musichetta’s mother’s old room, which gave them an element of privacy. “I’ve got to tell you something.” 

“Yeah?” His boyfriend asked. He was half prepared for a lame joke or something cheesy, but Joly actually looked kind of serious. 

“I think I’m kind of in love with Musichetta.” He said quietly. He knew that Musichetta couldn’t hear them, but it felt like she could, like if he spoke any louder than a whisper the entire desert would know. 

“Oh.” Bossuet said, frowning a little, “You still love me though, right?” 

“Of course, god. I could never love anyone more than I love you.” Joly said, taking his hand. Bossuet smiled. 

“That’s cool then. I think I might be a little in love with her too, so…” He trailed off, glancing at the door as if he shared Joly’s fear. 

“We’re totally fucked, aren’t we?” Joly asked. Bousset laughed a little and nodded. Totally fucked. 

…

Two more months passed. Since their confession, both of the boys had been more openly affectionate with Musichetta, no longer afraid it’d be taken the wrong way by the other. This only served to make them fall for her harder, and they would talk about how much they liked her to each other, in the dead of night. It was kind of weird, but then their lives were kind of weird already. 

One night, after Musichetta got back from Thenardier’s, they got wasted. Joly had lucked out and got more money that night than anticipated, so they had money to splurge on booze. 

Joly and Bossuet did not drink nearly as much as Musichetta. Last time they had, and they ended up having really drunk sex and a killer hangover in the morning. It was awkward and painful and they did not want a repeat. Musichetta, however, seemed largely unaffected by hangovers in general, and got completely wasted. 

They were all laughing about some stupid joke Bossuet made, trying to regain their breath, when Musichetta suddenly put her hands on both of their shoulders. 

“Guys.” She said, as seriously as she could manage. “I’ve got a c’nfess’n.” 

Bossuet and Joly assumed she meant confession. 

“Yeah?” Joly asked, grinning. When he was drunk he never stopped smiling. 

“You guyss are like…. The _cutest_ co…” She searched for the word and could not find it, “pair I’ve ever seen, like _ever_.”

“Aw.” Bossuet cooed, touched. Musichetta held up a finger. 

“Wait! ‘M not finished.” She protested, “I wanna say. You.” She pointed at Joly, “And you.” She pointed a little to the left of Bossuet, “Are so _fucking_ adorable and nice and sweet and I really want to kiss you both _all the time_ but like, you are toooo cute to break up.” 

Joly and Bossuet exchanged a look. This was everything they’d hoped for. They grinned. 

“Chetta-” Joly began, but she cut him off again. 

“No, I di’nt want to tell you!” She cried, “Fuck, I messed up! You prob’ly hate me now.” 

“No, no!” Bossuet said, grabbing her hand, “You gotta listen to the man.” 

“Chetta.” Joly began again, gaining her attention, “We like you too.” 

“You what?” She asked. 

“We like you too!” He said, “We didn’t know what to do!” 

“But I can’t break you up!” She said, despairing. 

“No, we wanna date you!” Bossuet chimed in, trying to help. They’d discussed it once or twice, but they never thought it’d be a reality. 

“Yeah!” Joly agreed, nodding vigorously. “We wanna date you!” 

“But how?” She asked, frowning. 

“Like, we all date at the same time?” Bossuet suggested. Joly continued to nod. 

“Oh.” She said, contemplative. “I’d never thought of that.” Her face broke into a wide grin, “That sounds like a good idea!” 

“You had a good idea!” Joly cheered, kissing Bossuet on the cheek. 

“Can I kiss you now too then?” Musichetta asked them. They nodded in unison. 

“Yeah!” 

“Of course!” 

She smiled again, and leaned over, pressing an overeager kiss to Joly’s lips. Bossuet watched, a stupid grin on his face, as she pulled away from his boyfriend and leaned over to him, kissing him as well. It was a little sloppy, but they were all kind of drunk so it didn’t matter. 

Their kiss ended up in giggling, but once Musichetta recovered she kissed him on the cheek for good measure and leaned back to look at the boys. 

“So, you guys want to be my boyfriends?” She asked, her happiness barely contained. 

“Who wouldn’t?” Joly asked, looking like he’d passed the point of happiness and gone straight to overjoyed. 

“And I’m going to be your girlfriend?” She asked. 

“Yep, if you want to.” Bossuet said. 

“Oh man.” She said, “You’ll have to remind me about this when I’m sober, because I’m going to think this is a dream.” 

At this point, Bossuet may or may not have said something cheesy about this being a dream come true, but no one really remembered that well. 

… 

Things went well for the next few days. The three of them were sickeningly cute all alone, holding hands and blushing all the time. They figured that they could be as cutesy as they wanted, no one was there to judge them. 

One day, there was a knock on the door. Musichetta went to get it, hoping that some of her mom’s rebel friends had finally got her messages. She opened the door to see Vincent. 

“Oh, Musichetta!” He said, sounding vaguely surprised, “I wanted to talk to you! Look, I don’t know what I said before that made you so mad, but I really want to know so I don’t offend you anymore, and-” 

“Vincent, where have you been?” Musichetta asked, cutting him off. 

“You told me to go away.” Vincent said, looking sad, “And I didn’t know how to make you not mad, so I’ve just been staying away.” 

“Oh.” Musichetta said, frowning. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just irritated.” 

“I thought you’d have your mom contact me if you forgave me, but you never did, so I figured you were still mad.” He explained. 

Musichetta felt like someone stabbed her for a moment. Did Vincent not know her mom was dead? It had been so long. She sighed. 

“Vincent-” She began, but she was cut off. 

“Hey babe!” Bossuet called, “Who’s at the door?” 

“Who is that?” Vincent asked, looking around Musichetta. He saw Joly and Bossuet, both in varying states of undress. He glanced back at Musichetta, who was also not wearing pants, not that he’d noticed before. 

“Oh, uh… Come on in, Vincent. I’ll grab you something to drink. This is a long story.”

…

“You’re mom’s _dead_? Vincent asked, his eyes wide. “When did that happen?” 

“Four months ago.” Joly said. Musichetta had mentioned at the beginning, but Vincent seemed to be in shock. 

“Is that why she stopped contacting us? I thought I really fucked up. Oh no, I’m really sorry, Chetta! I should have come back sooner.” Vincent said, taking Musichetta’s hand. She allowed it, and Joly tried not to be jealous. He had to remind himself that people were very fond of PDA in the wastelands. 

“Yeah.” Musichetta said, “I didn’t know how to contact anyone, so I just kind of hung out here with Joly and Bossuet. They’ve been trying to find you, you know?” 

“They have? Why me?” He asked, looking at Joly and Bossuet. 

“Actually, we’ve been trying to find the Amis.” Bossuet corrected, “We’ve been looking for months, we wanted to join you.” 

“Really? That’s awesome, you can totally join! If that’s okay with Musichetta?” He said, unsure, looking at her, “I know you didn’t want to join…” 

“I… I want to join now.” She said, after a moment of indecision. “I’ve changed my mind.” 

“Oh! Great, Enjolras’ll be so happy! Do you want some time, or…?” He asked.

“Can you just give us directions? Or send a car in the morning? We’ll need to pack.” Musichetta said. Vincent nodded. 

“Of course. Oh man, I’ll have to go tell them.” He got up, as if to just run off to wherever the base was, “Oh, Musichetta.” He turned back to take her hand again, “I’m sorry, again. If there’s anything I can do…” 

“Thanks.” Musichetta said, “Bye Vincent.” 

“See you tomorrow!” He said, and saw himself out. 

There was a moment of silence, before Musichetta let out a laugh.

“Can you believe I used to have a crush on that kid?” 

…

The next day they moved out. It was easier than Musichetta thought it’d be, especially with help from Courfeyrac, their ride, and Bahorel, his friend. 

“You should be happy to be graced by a ride from the devilishly handsome, the one, the only, Courfeyrac.” Courfeyrac said, once they were situated. Bahorel laughed. 

“Also the only one with a car.” Bahorel added. 

“That too.” He glanced back at the three of them in the rearview mirror, “So, I know this is sudden, but I have a question.” 

“Yeah?” Bossuet asked. This guy was fucking hilarious, he’d been making jokes the whole time, even got Musichetta to laugh when she was boxing up her mom’s stuff. 

“Do you want to come to a Virginity Party?” He asked. 

“What?” Joly asked, shocked, “You’re finally losing it?” 

“Not for me!” He squeaked, offended, “For Enjolras! He needs to get laid, bad.” 

Enjolras was apparently the name of the hero-worshiped leader. To hear his name in such context was a little odd. 

“Really? Why don’t you just have sex with him?” Musichetta asked reasonably. Courfeyrac shrugged. 

“It’d be a little weird. We’re best friends, for one. Also, I’m not really sure he’s into guys?” Courfeyrac said, laughing a little, “Plus I’ve got my eye on someone. Not that he’d mind, but you know.” 

…

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta fit in well with Amis, but Musichetta fit in best. Most of her friends from school were there, and she got to reconnect with them, plus she was a good shot, so she was allowed on mission. She tended to ask for the safer missions though, as she didn’t want to encounter any Operatives. 

They lived peacefully in the room closest to the parking garage. It was weird, having to explain their relationship to everyone who asked, but eventually everyone knew, and it lost its novelty. 

While Musichetta was reconnecting with her friends, Joly and Bossuet made new ones. They tended to avoid Enjolras, for someone so short he was very intimidating. They did like Courfeyrac and Bahorel, so they ended up becoming friends with Combeferre and Feuilly, simply because of how much they hung out together. 

Combeferre and Joly clicked with their love for science. Joly was fascinated with Combeferre’s lab, if a bit confused. Bahorel, Feuilly, and Bossuet became closer as well, as the couple seemed to find Bossuet’s bad luck hilarious. Courfeyrac wasn’t around that much during their free time from missions, off courting Jehan. 

They found Angelica again, which was exciting, as well as the kid from the fountain all those years ago. Bossuet and Joly asked about R, but the only one who could give them a semi-straight answer was Combeferre, who said that they had no idea who R was, or where he’d gone. They shrugged it off, he must have become an accountant after all. 

…

The three of them were sitting in their room, talking about something unimportant, when there was a deafening noise. Their room shook, Joly was thrown from his standing position to the floor, and everything began to fall from their shelves. 

“Chetta!” Joly cried, coughing as dust rose up. “Bossuet! Are you guys alright?” 

Musichetta got up from the bed, where she had been thrown back, and helped Bossuet to his feet from where he’d fallen out of the chair. Joly stumbled to them, unsure of his legs, and took hold of Bossuet’s arm, leading the two to the door. 

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Musichetta yelled, their ears were ringing and the ceiling was making ominous noises. “It’s not safe!” 

“Wait, we have to make sure everyone else is okay!” Bossuet protested, breaking away. He ran to the first door he saw, wrenching it open to reveal two people on the ground. Joly and Musichetta rushed to help them, picking them up so they could escape. 

“Get out!” Musichetta yelled to them, “Run!” 

They opened three more doors, helped four more people out, before they decided that they _really_ needed to leave. 

They were running through the parking garage, the closest exit, when Joly looked up to see a loose part of the ceiling beginning to collapse, right over where Musichetta was. Her mother’s last words rang in his ears, his promise to take care of her. He launched himself in her direction, pushing her so that she was mostly out of harm’s way, and felt the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. 

“Joly!” He heard Bossuet yell. He tried to move, to see him, but there was something pinning him down. It felt strange, like a giant was pinching his back. His leg, however, felt like a nest of fire ants had decided to take up refuge right below his knee. 

He could seem Musichetta in front of him. She was lying on the ground unmoving. He was reminded of his daydreams, where she starred as the moon. It was dawn and she needed her rest. 

He realized that he was making some sort of noise. Halfway between a scream and a rubble of discomfort. He wasn’t exactly sure how to stop. 

“Joly, just hang on!” Bossuet said, suddenly in his face, blocking Musichetta, the sun blocking the moon. “I’m gonna get you out of here!” 

“No!” He yelled, the sound ripping from his lips, “Get Musichetta!” 

“What?” Bossuet cried, taken aback, “I’m not going to leave you here!” 

“Come back!” Joly suggested, “Take her and come back!” Please come back, he thought, don’t just leave me here. 

Bossuet nodded, realizing time was of the essence, and turned, gathering Musichetta in his arms and running as fast as he could. He ran out, his feet moving automatically. He arrived at Combeferre and Enjolras, unsure really of how he got there. 

He set Musichetta down next to Enjolras, who was coughing hard, and looked at Combeferre. He was a doctor, he was trustworthy. 

“Watch her.” Bossuet said, and started to run back. He needed to get Joly. He felt someone grab his ankle and looked down to see Enjolras.

“You can’t go back!” The leader cried. It was probably the most he’d said directly to Bossuet since welcoming him to the Amis. Bossuet kicked his leg a little to free his ankle. 

“I’m going to get Joly and you can’t fucking stop me.” There was no way he was leaving Joly to die alone. He turned to Bahorel, who he’d realized was there, “You need to help me get the ceiling off of him.”

“Got it.” Bahorel said. He patted Feuilly’s head, the man was sitting with a gash in his leg. “Be back in a minute, babe.” 

Bossuet was eternally grateful that Bahorel was going along, unquestioning. It was unfair to make him go back after he’d survived once, but he knew he needed the help. 

 

Joly stared at the empty, crumbling space, emitting whimpers of terror. There was no one around, he didn’t need to act brave. That was the only perk to being alone. 

He’d come to terms with his inevitable death when Bossuet arrived with Bahorel. 

“You came back!” He choked out, trying to smile. Bossuet did not smile back. He felt the weight lift off his back, which was nice, but it seemed to grind into his leg more, which caused him to scream in pain. 

“Joly, we’re gonna get you out.” Bossuet promised again. Duh, Joly thought, that’s why they were there. He remembered something he’d taught Bossuet, that you should comfort someone in a situation like this. It was basic first aid nonsense. He figured it was useless, he was already in shock. 

Bahorel picked him up and he screamed again. His leg had reached a new level of pain, stars floated before his eyes and he wondered if he died if he’d get to hang out in the sky with the moon. 

He was vaguely aware that they were moving. He was rested at the feet of Combeferre. The pain in his leg had surpassed words, and he honestly could ignore it by now, in a weird way. 

 

He could hear Bossuet convincing Combeferre he was a doctor. It would have been amusing if he could zone out the pain enough to let it be. 

He felt Bossuet hold his hand. Combeferre looked at him. Had his eyes always been that red? 

“Joly, I’m going to level with you.” Combeferre said seriously, “I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m about half blind right now.”

“It’s fine.” Joly said, not entirely sure when he’d regained control of his vocal chords, “I’ll walk you through it. Bossuet can help. Chetta’s fine, right?”

Combeferre nodded. Or, Joly hoped he’d nodded. His vision blurred for a second there, so he wasn’t really sure. 

“That’s good.” Joly said, hoping he wasn’t saying it was good that his girlfriend died. He proceeded to tell Combeferre how to treat him. 

“Okay, after this you’re going to be doing this on your own.” Joly said in the interest of fair warning. He could feel himself fading from consciousness, and every time his leg moved it felt like the world was blurring away. 

“What?” Combeferre asked. Joly was internally upset. He thought he’d been a pretty good sport, staying awake this long. 

“I’m going to pass out.” Joly said matter-of-factly. “Because you and Bossuet are going to set my leg.”

And after he finished telling Combeferre what he was supposed to do, Joly indeed passed out. 

…

Bossuet helped look for survivors while Joly and Musichetta rested by Combeferre as he treated the injured. He found Angelica’s hand in the debris and swallowed hard. It was a reminder this was all real, these people were really dead. 

Musichetta regained consciousness in mid-afternoon. Courfeyrac had come back, which was good, Bossuet had been worried. He abandoned his search for survivors in order to watch over her and Joly, who was in and out of consciousness, mumbling things. 

The next few days were hellish, even after they got pain medicine for Joly. He would wake up screaming in pain, and Musichetta and Bossuet were at a loss for how to comfort him. They didn’t know how to fix it, how to make it better. 

Musichetta recovered quickly from her minor concussion, a piece of the ceiling had caused it and knocked her out. She recovered more slowly from the loss of all of her childhood friends. None of them made it out alive. She tried to take Bossuet’s old advice and let herself mourn, but it was hard, so she just focused on Joly instead.

Time passed slowly. Valjean knew a real doctor, who braced Joly’s leg and back. The doctor said that Joly would never be able to walk the same again, and that he should wear the brace at all times, except when sleeping. They accepted this dire fate. 

Musichetta felt insanely guilty. If she had just watched where she was going, this wouldn’t have happened. If they’d just left her there instead of Joly, he wouldn’t be having nightmares about being alone in the crumbling building, waiting to die. 

She didn’t talk about it, though. She just called the boys her “knights in shining armor”, which seemed to cheer up Joly once he was lucid enough to have conversations again. 

Bossuet felt equally guilty. If he had gotten Musichetta out of the way, if he hadn’t insisted they stay and get people out, if he hadn’t had such _terrible_ luck, maybe Joly would be okay. 

Joly, of course, found out about their guilty wallowing, about a month after the bombings. He was not happy. 

“Now listen up.” He said, not very intimidating, as he was sitting on the bed on ordered bed rest. He only got up for physical therapy with Combeferre. 

Musichetta and Bossuet frowned. They’d just confessed their feelings, they didn’t expect Joly to be _mad_.

“You guys have got to pull yourselves together.” Joly said, “All this guilt bullshit has got to stop.” 

“But it was my fault.” Musichetta said, while Bossuet said “I should have done something.” 

“Fucking Christ.” Joly said, “You are not helping me by being guilty. It was not either of your fault, so stop it. And it wasn’t my fault either, because I’d do this all over again if it meant that we saved those people and Musichetta came out fine.” 

“I should be the one who’s hurt, not you.” She protested. 

“No.” Joly said, “You probably would have died. And no one should be hurt, not you, not me. If you’re going to blame someone, blame Tomorrow Comes.” 

“We just don’t want to see you in pain like this.” Bossuet said. Joly nodded. 

“I understand that. But that doesn’t give you any right to be mean to my boyfriend, Bossuet.” He said, smiling a little. Bossuet rolled his eyes. They were having a moment, it was no time for jokes. 

“And you!” He pointed dramatically at Musichetta, “Stop being mean to my girlfriend!” 

She giggled a little, closing the distance between them and hugging his head (the only safe place to hug, as his back was still messed up). Bossuet joined the hug, and Joly wrapped his arms around them. 

“Besides.” He said, his voice a little muffled by Musichetta’s boobs, “I got this cool cane!” 

…

It turned out that canes were rather inefficient in the desert. When Enjolras started sending them on missions again (mostly for money and supplies this time) Joly ended up being left at home more often than not. To combat his lack of contribution, he borrowed medical books from Valjean and learned everything he could. He started to teach Combeferre, the man was now deathly afraid of being unqualified to help people in need of medical care. 

A few months passed. Their group was much smaller than before. The three of them made more of an effort to get to know people at first, but when their friends were dying off it was harder to cope, so they just closed themselves off a little. 

They couldn’t escape getting to know Jehan though. Courfeyrac was so happy around him, and Courfeyrac was their friend, so Jehan hung out with them a lot. He hung out with Joly, actually, since they were both left home a lot, though for different reasons. 

Jehan started coming around less frequently, however. Joly supposed he should have been happy, the kid finally had something to do, but it got lonely during the days. 

…

One day, Jehan stumbled into Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s room, holding onto the doorframe for dear life. He was looking at them weirdly, mouthing something, but then he seemed to focus on Joly. 

“The room’s spinning.” Jehan said, conversationally, then passed out. 

Joly rushed over. He knelt next to the ginger and took his pulse. Good, he was still alive. His heart rate was a little elevated and he was burning up. 

“We have to get him back to his room.” Joly said to Bossuet and Musichetta. Musichetta picked Jehan up and began to carry him away, “Bossuet, can you get me some water and rags?” 

…

Joly got Jehan situated on the bed, before going to find Combeferre. Jehan had mumbled something about his fever coming from someone he had sex with, and this was way out of Joly’s territory. It was out of Combeferre’s too, but hey, maybe the man knew _something_. He found him in the bathroom-turned-office. 

“Combeferre.” He said urgently, leaning heavily on his cane, he had overestimated how much he could walk around and he kind of just wanted to fall over. “You need to help me, Jehan’s sick and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Combeferre followed him, unquestioningly. Joly was grateful, he didn’t want to explain something he didn’t even understand.

“Jehan.” Joly said, putting a hand on Jehan’s shoulder, “Jehan, you can hear me, right?” Jehan hadn’t been ludic when he went to get Combeferre, but he seemed a little more awake now. 

“Yeah.” Jehan said, “Joly, has anyone told you how beautiful you are? You look like a wonderful golden marshmallow.”

“What?” Joly asked, confused. Did he really look like a marshmallow? 

“What happened?” Combeferre asked, after testing Jehan’s temperature. 

“He came into my room a couple minutes ago, said ‘woah, the room’s spinning’ and fell over.” Joly recounted. “I’m like eighty percent sure it’s an STD, from what I could get out of him. He said something about it.”

Combeferre was silent. He was probably thinking ‘shit I don’t know how to treat an STD’, like Joly had been thinking a few minutes ago.

“Sous.” Jehan said from the bed, drawing their attention.

“What?” Joly asked again, “What even is that?” Combeferre did not seem concerned, so Joly just assumed it was nonsense. The tall man turned to him. 

“So what are we doing?” Combeferre asked. “Do we have any medication at all?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you.” Joly said, “I’ll try to lower the fever with a couple of those fever pills, but they can’t fight an infection. Other than that, I’ll just try to keep him hydrated.” He wished, not for the first time, that they had access to all the wonderful technology of Tomorrow Comes. 

“Shit.” Combeferre said, frowning, “I’ll try to think of something. I need to talk to Enjolras first though, don’t let Courfeyrac know yet.”

“Okay.” Joly agreed. “He’ll be back home in like half an hour though, so you might want to think of a way to break it to him easily.” He did not want to have to treat someone in shock as well as Jehan. 

…

Joly hung out with Jehan that afternoon, giving him water, forcing him to rest. The kid wouldn’t stop talking though. 

“Joly, you’re like the rainbow sprinkles on the cupcake of life.” 

“Thanks, Jehan.”

“Joly, you’re smile is so contagious, it’s been labeled a disease.” 

“Thank you?” 

“Joly, you hair is so soft. It’s like that cat I pet that one time. And it was a really soft cat.” 

“Better than a hard cat, I guess.” 

“Joly, you and Montparnasse would be such a cute couple.” 

“What?” 

“So cute.” 

“We would never agree on anything! Talking is a very important part of a relationship.” 

Jehan hummed, “You can do other things with your mouth.” 

Joly wondered what, exactly, he had done to deserve this. 

“But you and Musichetta and Bossuet are like soooo cute.” Jehan slurred. Joly was suddenly reminded of Musichetta’s love confession all those months ago. 

“Okay.” Joly said, blushing, “Let’s play the quiet game.” 

…

Montparnasse brought some miracle medicine eventually, and Joly was free to go. They found out from Combeferre that Brujon had kind of forced Jehan into prostituting himself, and was taking all the money. They weren’t really sad to see Brujon go, none of them had really liked him anyways. 

As months went by, they became closer to the Amis. A few died or left, leaving only ten of them to live in the Musain Saloon. Things got better. It was hard to see Enjolras as someone to be afraid of after they walked in on him singing Greenday songs into a hairbrush. 

Three years passed, uneventfully. Bossuet was supposed to go on a solo mission that afternoon. 

“I love you.” Musichetta said, capturing his lips in a soft kiss, “Give em hell.” 

“I’m just getting a thing from the junkyard.” Bossuet protested. “There’s no one to give hell to. I can’t just show up with a present and no one to give it to.” 

“Give em hell anyways.” Joly said, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek. “Give the air hell. Karate chop.” 

Bossuet laughed, “I’ll be back in like 20 minutes, tops.” He said, “Love you.” 

“Love you.” Musichetta and Joly chorused back. 

Bossuet did not, in fact, return in 20 minutes, or an hour, or a day. He had gotten himself captured. And there was only one thing for them to do about that. 

“Who’s going on this mission?” Enjolras asked, once they had a plan. 

Musichetta and Joly exchanged a look, before raising their hands to volunteer.


	5. House of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for violence 
> 
> Eponine's life in the desert.
> 
> _“Maybe you guys should talk it out?” Marius suggested._
> 
> _“Oh, Marius.” Eponine sighed, petting his hair, “You poor, poor baby. You child. You young soul.”_

Eponine grew up rich. She could scarcely remember it, it felt like a separate lifetime, one filled with pretty clothes and good food and a golden haired playmate who was always by her side. 

Cosette had been her best friend. Azelma wasn't old enough to play with her, the child rarely left her mother’s lap. Eponine was aware that Cosette wasn't treated as well as she was, they disciplined her much worse, sometimes without reason. But Cosette was never mad, in fact she seemed extraordinarily nice. Eponine later supposed that it was because she herself was a spoiled brat, and Cosette’s displays of selflessness seemed strange to her. At the time, she just thought Cosette was weird. 

One day, Cosette stopped coming in. Her father had said Cosette’s “whore mother” had cut off that income. It didn't matter, they were still well off. For a while, at least. Their prosperity lasted for another year until everything started going to hell. 

Eponine’s parents were increasingly angry all the time. They had to move five times, before settling back in their original location under the protection of a man known as Chenildieu. The man had taken in a child, named Montparnasse, and was teaching him his trade. Eponine was never sure what exactly that trade was. Chenildieu seemed to have some kind of agreement with the Operatives, however. 

The Operatives had moved into the wastelands soon after Cosette stopped coming to play with Eponine, causing too much excitement in Eponine’s life for her to think much about her blonde playmate. Eponine’s father never told Eponine why they started roaming the wastelands or why they seemed to be targeting the Thenardiers. She was too young to know. She was smart though, and what little schooling she’d had told her that Operatives were good guys, you went to them for help. That meant that her family must be bad guys. That was okay though. She didn’t mind being a bad guy. 

When they settled back into their store, Chenildieu took an interest in Eponine. She was only seven, but he seemed to think she could be of some use. He taught her how to read and do some basic math, same as he taught Montparnasse. It was the only school she was allowed, as she was a non-legal citizen and not allowed to go to the public school, and she hated it. She hated learning, it was hard. She’d rather spend her time learning to shoot from the vagabonds that drifted through the store, or stealing from them. She honestly just wanted to play with Azelma, but her parents were even more protective of her younger sister than ever before. 

When she was nine, Gavroche was born. That meant that she had to stay in the living quarters of the shop more, rather than roaming around and bothering customers. She was charged with taking care of Gavroche while her mother complained about how hard it was to take care of Gavroche. It also meant that she was allowed to play with Azelma more often, though the novelty wore off after she realized that her sister only wanted to play princesses. 

Chenildieu started taking Eponine to help on missions when she was ten, as part of her schooling. She would be the lookout while he and Montparnasse did whatever they were doing. It was fun, if a little boring at times. Eponine developed a slight crush on Montparnasse during this period. At sixteen, he seemed like such an adult. She wanted him to take her away from her boring life with her parents, off to have adventures. 

This ended abruptly when she was 12 and Chenildieu was killed. Montparnasse was put in charge of the Patron Minette, limiting his time with Eponine. He took on three friends as his counsel, Babet, Gueulemer, and Claquesous, and began to run the operation. Eponine was offended that she was not offered a place, nor invited into the Patron Minette at all, but no one seemed to notice. 

She did visit the Patron Minette often enough. They were her friends, how could she not? She loved being out of the house, and as she got older her parents cared less and less whether they saw their daughter at all. She was free to roam, secure in the fact that Gavroche was old enough to feed himself and her parents didn’t give a fuck about her. She’d much rather spend her time harassing Montparnasse’s new pet project Jehan than stealing some odds and ends. And that is how she met Marius. 

… 

Marius was a regular at her parent’s shop, but she didn’t tend to hang around there, afraid her parents would give her a job to do. No, she met him in the alley when he was getting the shit kicked out of him. 

“Hey!” She yelled, whipping out a pocket knife-a birthday present from Claquesous-at the people attacking the teen on the ground. Eponine was only fourteen herself, but she was tough and these guys seemed to only have their fists, no weapons. 

“Aren’t you the Thenardier kid?” One of the men asked, while his friend gave the beaten kid one final kick. 

“Yeah.” She answered, there was no need to lie. 

“Tell your dad I need an extension on my payment this month.” The man said, turning to leave. 

“You should probably try mugging someone who looks like he actually has money then.” Eponine bit back. The man shrugged, as if saying that she had a point, and he and his friend left. 

“You alright?” She asked, offering her hand to the poor kid. He looked up from where he had been protecting his head, showing her the most adorably cute face she’d ever seen. 

“Yeah.” He replied, taking her hand. “Thanks.” He stood and towered over her, looking awkward in his stance. It seemed like someone had attached stilts to the ends of his legs and he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it. 

“Don’t mention it.” She said. She couldn’t have people questioning her street cred. “So what’s your name?” 

“Marius Pontmercy.” He said, sticking out his hand. People in the city did that more often than people in the desert. Out here shaking hands felt more like playing pretend. She took his hand anyways. 

“Eponine.” She said. “So where are you headed, Marius?” 

“I was headed to the store to grab some food.” He said wistfully, looking in the direction of the Thenardier store. “But they took my money, so…” 

This kid was so pitiful, Eponine felt a rare burst of pity. “Come on, I’ll get you something.” She said, heading off. 

“Really?” He asked, sounding delighted. She smiled to herself. Maybe this is why Cosette and her father were always off doing good deeds. 

…

“So, not only did I get in trouble with my parents for giving this kid some food,” Eponine complained to Jehan as she laid draped across his bed. “But then Montparnasse shows up and starts hitting on him! Like, what am I supposed to do? I wanted this kid, but no, Parnasse just swoops in and _offers him a job_. How am I supposed to compete with that?” 

“I don’t know.” Jehan hummed, supremely unsympathetic. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to do something nice.” 

“I couldn’t just _leave him there_. He’d like an awkward baby giraffe.” 

“You don’t even know what a giraffe is.” 

“There was one in a book.” 

“You can read?” 

Eponine threw a pillow at Jehan. He didn’t seem to care. 

…

And thus they had to watch Montparnasse try to woo Marius. It was painfully awkward. Eponine also had to watch Jehan desperately try to gain Montparnasse’s attention. She often got fed up with him and went to hang out with Marius. He was socially inept, but he was cute and way less dramatic. 

“I don’t think Jehan likes me.” Marius confessed one day. Eponine swallowed the urge to laugh. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, he just seems… mad at me all the time. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did, but I can’t think of anything.” 

“Hmm…” On one hand, Eponine could tell him the truth. On the other, she could save that long explanation and just reassure him. “Well, I don’t think he hates you.” Lies. 

“Really?” Marius asked, hopeful. 

“Nooo.” She drew out the no, unsure how to continue, “He just doesn’t really trust people, you know? Give him time.” 

“Alright.” Marius sounded far more optimistic as he turned to tell her more about some book he read. Eponine was sure she could probably recite the plot right back at him, but it was okay. She let the noise wash over her.

…

“Ponine!” Gavroche cried as she came in the door to the Thenardier’s house. Eponine ruffled her five-year-old brother’s hair as he attacked her legs in a hug. 

“Woah, did you miss me?” She asked, smiling at him. He nodded into her legs. 

“You’ve been gone three days, Ep.” Azelma said from the doorway. The girl bit her lip nervously “Daddy isn’t happy.” 

Eponine nodded in thanks. They didn’t talk much, her and Azelma, but they had each other’s backs. 

“I gotta go see Mom and Dad.” Eponine said to Gavroche, extracting him from her leg. 

“Will you play after?” He asked. She nodded. 

… 

“Where have you been?” Her father asked, looking up from his book. For all that she disliked about the man, he was probably the only person in the wastelands who knew math almost as well as Marius, and he was good at keeping track of his funds. It was the only reason they weren’t begging in the streets. 

“Montparnasse’s.” She replied, trying to quell her fear. He couldn’t do anything to her that would be lasting. Her parents had a deal with Montparnasse and he cared about Eponine, though he hated to admit it. She was sure he cared. 

“He can’t possibly need you this much.” Her father said, frowning. She shrugged. “You’ve got to come home more often.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” She said. 

…

She didn’t actually see what she could do. If anything, she stayed out of the house more often. Every time she showed up it seemed that there was an urgent thing that they had to go do, where she was forced to shoot or cut or steal. At fourteen, her lookout days were behind her and she was kind of wary. 

She knew she had nothing to complain about. She’d heard Jehan’s tragic backstory, she knew she could have it much worse. But it just seemed so unfair. 

…

Jehan’s birthday passed, and he got together with Montparnasse. This meant that his petty feud with Marius (that Marius was mostly unaware of) was over, and they could all be friends. Eponine looked back on this time as one of the best periods of her life. 

“So, I think Montparnasse cheated on me with some girl.” Jehan told her and Marius, where they were sitting on his bed. “So I need to get back at him.” 

“Maybe you guys should talk it out?” Marius suggested. 

“Oh, Marius.” Eponine sighed, petting his hair, “You poor, poor baby. You child. You young soul.” 

“I am like three years older than you.” 

“You really don’t know how this works by now?” 

Marius sighed, “I just… I hate pranking him. He’s my boss. And he’s scary.” 

“It’ll be fun!” Jehan said, “So, here’s what we’re gonna do…”

They did a really good job that time, Montparnasse didn’t even realize that they stole his leather jacket until a week later, but he certainly recognized it when Jehan was wearing the now-striped article of clothing, painted by the three of them. 

“And the best part.” Eponine said to Marius as they listened to Jehan and Montparnasse yell in the other rooms. “Is that we don’t get in trouble.” 

“MARIUS!” Montparnasse yelled. Marius shot Eponine a dirty look and ran off to answer the call. 

“Well, at least I don’t get in trouble.” Eponine said to herself, reclining on Marius’s bed. She’d have a while to wait. 

…

The perfection was ruined, of course, by Cosette. Eponine had been happy to clumsily flirt with Marius, while Jehan tried to help on the sidelines. It added to the banter, and it saved them from major changes in the group. She cursed herself, however, when Marius came floating back one day with tales of true love. 

“I can’t believe it!” She said, “Twice now, _twice_ , since I brought him here! What is it with people being attracted to this dork?” 

“Well, you’re one to ask.” Jehan said, “Besides, Montparnasse brought him here, not you.” 

“Details, details.” She said, brushing him off. “I should have asked him out when I had the chance.” 

“You still could.” 

“No.” She said, looking out the window, “No, I can’t win against Cosette. She’s too… everything.” 

“Too everything?” 

“Yeah.” Eponine sat down. “I knew her when we were kids and I’ve seen her a couple times and… Marius is like the most naive person I’ve ever met and she’s like a fairy tale princess. They were made to be together.” 

“I mean, there’s generally a witch who seduces people in fairy tales. That could totally be you. You’ve already got the warts.” 

“Fuck you.”

… 

It was around this time that Eponine started going on more missions. She was fifteen and her parents had decided to put their foot down. She was required to go on more jobs with them to “earn her keep”, and when she tried to escape to Montparnasse’s, he sent her back. 

“You’ve got to learn.” He tell her, sounding regretful. “I don’t want to have to train you.” 

Then Eponine would call him lazy, but she always felt happy. That meant he wanted her to become part of the Patron Minette someday. That meant that she would get to escape her parents. So she played along. 

Jehan seemed more and more passive aggressive when she did get to hang out, making their interactions increasingly bitchy and confusing Marius. Eponine was slightly concerned for her ginger friend, but then Courfeyrac appeared out of the blue, just to distract him. Eponine liked the kid enough, he was fun to hang out with (though she didn’t get to that often). 

Marius moved away to live with Cosette. For all Eponine’s posturing about how she didn’t care that the two of them were together, she did care. She cared a lot. And even though Marius never told her where Valjean’s “super secret base” was, she knew. She wasn’t dumb. She just decided not to go. She didn’t want to see them. 

As her parents were taking her on more jobs, she was could barely visit Jehan. She knew he was in relatively good hands with Montparnasse and Courfeyrac, but still, she missed him. She missed hanging out with him and Marius, before everything started being weird. 

Then out of the blue, Jehan was breaking up with Montparnasse and moving away with Courfeyrac and Eponine didn’t know what to do. She vowed to spend more time with them, she didn’t want to be alone, she didn’t want to end up like her parents. She just had to get through the next few years and she’d be free with the Patron Minette. And then she could be with them and things would be better, she just had to wait.

…

The Amis’ base was hit. Eponine’s friends were devastated, but she didn’t know what to do. She brought over supplies a few times, but the only one who seemed lucid in any way was Jehan, who accepted the blankets or whatever and thanked her without even a friendly insult. It felt weird, formal. Eponine wanted to be there for him, for Marius. But she didn’t know how. 

…

She was standing outside the strip club, about to go in and basically beg Montparnasse to let her become part of the Patron Minette, but unsure how to word it, when a car pulled up behind her. 

It was a Tomorrow Comes vehicle, the logo painted neatly on the side. An Operative got out and stumbled over to her. He reeked of alcohol, he must have been defective. 

“Hey.” He said, standing way too close to her. “How much?” 

“What?” She asked. Generally she wasn’t this slow, she knew what he wanted. But it was broad daylight and she was caught off guard. 

“How much for a night…” He looked up at the sky, stupidly, “An afternoon?”

“Fuck off.” She said, moving away so she could go talk to Montparnasse. The man grabbed her shoulder. 

“No-” He began, but she whirled around on him and pulled out her knife, slicing up his arm. 

“Get your hand off of me!” She yelled, even as he recoiled. 

“Hey!” Another Operative. Shit. Eponine should not have done that. She took off. “Freeze!” 

Two Operatives chased her as she ran. Eventually they caught her, hauling her kicking and screaming back to the strip club. They forced her to her knees in front of Montparnasse. 

“She works for me.” He said. Eponine’s heart lifted. The Operative that she’d cut shook his head. 

“She’s not one of your registered employees.” He countered. 

“I forgot to enter her in the system.” 

“We’re taking her with us.” The man sneered, “If she’s that important, she’ll be back.” 

“Wait-” Eponine said as she was dragged to her feet. 

“Shut up.” One of the Operatives hissed. 

“Montparnasse!” She cried, panic building in her chest. She couldn’t be in trouble, she was never in trouble. Why would she be taken away for protecting herself? “Don’t let them take me!” 

Montparnasse did nothing. 

…

Eponine didn’t think she’d ever been this scared in her life. She had been put in a holding facility and they actually told her the room she’d be put in in the city, saying she was a high risk case, so she was going to be in the high profile wing. She scratched this information underneath her bed with a pin, before she was taken to the city. 

Eponine had never been in New Paris. It was lighter than she imagined, but that was probably because she’d always thought it would be in an eternal twilight. People described it as dismal, but they were kind of wrong. It was dull, but the cleanest place she’d ever been. 

The first thing that happened when she was put into the facility, after they took pictures of her, was a shower. She was used to having to share showers, especially with her siblings, but she was practically assaulted by Operatives scrubbing her. She felt a little violated, to be honest. 

Afterwards they cut her hair, and she’d be lying if she said that didn’t affect her. She didn’t know why, it was just hair. It would grow back. She wasn’t vain like Montparnasse and Jehan, she should have been fine. 

She was put into a shirt with the Tomorrow Comes logo and very short shorts, before she was shoved into her cell, which was more like a very small room with two beds. Well, two beds, a toilet, and another occupant. Another occupant who was staring at her curiously. 

“Hi.” She said, sitting down on the bed, “So… nice place.” 

The other occupant snorted. She was not expecting that. She’d kind of expected a brain-dead zombie of a roommate. 

“Yeah.” The guy said, “Cozy.” 

She grinned. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. 

…

“So, 82473.” Eponine said, after introductions had been had and she’d related her tale, “What’re you in for?” 

“Graffiti.” He said with a shrug, “Used to be famous, you know? Paintings all over the North Sector. One of them was on TV.” 

Eponine shrugged, “We don’t get TV in the wastelands.” 

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” 82473 said, getting more comfortable on his bed. “So, tell me about the wastelands. I’ve never been there. I heard it’s beautiful.” 

Eponine was more than happy to oblige. 

…

There became a routine between the two of them. They would talk about their respective homes, telling the other everything they ever wanted to know, telling each other every funny story they could think of, until they couldn’t think of stories anymore. 82473 seemed happy just to have someone to talk to. Eponine was just glad she wasn’t alone. 

A few days passed. Eponine was feeling strange. They were putting her on the medication, but it was a slow process, if they gave her too much all at once her heart would stop. She felt foggy and slow, open to suggestion. 

Every day, when they took 82473 away for testing, whatever that was, they’d show her almost hypnotic videos about Tomorrow Comes and the rules, the laws. She knew it was bullshit, but… sometimes after watching she’d think they were true. 

“Hey, 37691.” 82473 said one day, snapping his fingers in front of her face, “Hey, you were talking.” 

“Was I?” She asked. It was getting harder. From their estimations, weeks had passed. 82473 was looking worse for wear, the testing they were doing on him was getting harder. But she didn’t care as much as she should have, all she could think of was how happy she was. 

“Yeah, about this weird group of guys that came into the desert.” He supplied. 

“Oh yeah. They’ve got this leader, he’s short and blond. He’s kind of an asshole, he keeps talking like the wasteland is some charity case, like we need saving.” She said, a little bitter. 

“I mean, we all need saving.” 82473 commented. She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah. We do.” She said, eventually. “That’s what they’re trying to do, when they take you away. Save me.” 

“Who?” 82473 asked, looking confused. 

“Them.” Eponine said, waving her arm around to indicate the facility. “I’m worried.” 

“Why’re you worried?” 

“I think they’re doing it. They’re saving me.” She whispered. 82473 pet the stubble fuzz that had started growing on her head. She was grateful that he didn’t seem to have the same problem with human contact that most people from the city had. He was a great comfort. 

“Oh, 37691, you’re too far gone, they can’t save you.” He assured her. “You gotta fight it. Be the bitch we know you can be.” 

“I know.” She said, “I gotta be tough.” 

“Be tough.” He agreed, “And rip their faces off.” 

…

The time came for her to rip their faces off one day. It was a month after she’d been captured. She didn’t talk much now, but she appreciated that 82473 did. He seemed sad. Why was he sad? She was too numb to be sad. 

They were sitting on her bed, him telling her about some kid who’d jumped into a fountain in front of some ping pong place, when the room glowed red. 

“The alarms.” 82473 said, sitting up. “37961, you’ve gotta get up. We gotta be ready.” 

“Ready for what?” Eponine asked, getting up slowly. 

“Ready for anything.” 

The door opened and they could see a struggle, three Operatives fighting against two men who were clearly _not_ Operatives. 

“P…” Eponine frowned, trying to summon a name from the foggy part of her brain, “Parnasse.” 

“What?” 82473 asked, looking at her, “Is this one of those guys?” 

She nodded. 

“Oh fuck, we gotta go with them.” He said, pulling her along. Montparnasse and whoever had come with were down the hall, they had been fought away from the room by the Operatives. 

The Operatives were coming from both sides, it seemed hopeless. There were only three men. Eponine knew that they could take out one side just fine, but they were trapped. 

“No.” She whispered. 82473 looked down at her. 

“Hey,” He said, gaining her attention, “Be tough.” 

She looked at him, confused, but then he pushed her towards the members of the Patron Minette and turned to face the Operatives coming at them down the hall. In his hand was a hypodermic needle Eponine had stolen in the first week. 

“Go!” He yelled, “I’ll hold them off on this end. They can’t kill me, I’m too important.” 

He sounded bitter, but Eponine didn’t have time to think about it. She couldn’t leave him behind. The Patron Minette seemed to realize he was helping and they focused on fighting the Ops in front of them, while he slashed madly at the others. 

The Operatives were overtaking Prisoner 82473 when the Patron Minette finished their fight. 

“Wait!” She yelled as Montparnasse grabbed her, “We have to bring him!” 

“We can’t.” He said. 

“Don’t waste your time, 37691! Get out of here!” 82473 yelled from where he was. 

“I’ll be back for you!” Eponine called as Montparnasse hauled her off. She promised herself, she’d see that man to the desert or die trying. 

…

Eponine was sure she was going to die. She was trapped in her parents’ house, her pleas for them to get her friend unanswered. Montparnasse refused flat out, and her father called her ungrateful. No matter, when she was able to work again she’d save money to hire the Patron Minette. She’d even start prostituting, if it meant more money. She’d have to ask Jehan about that. 

Now, though, she was sick. Withdrawal was a bitch and she spent the better part of two weeks in bed with only Azelma and Gavroche to keep her company as she screamed through nightmares and was sick all over herself. 

It was during these week that she realized, they were beating Gavroche. They made him go on missions, used him for bait for creeps, and beat the shit out of him. Her little seven-year-old brother. She couldn’t let this happen. 

But if she was out all the time making money to get 82473 out of the facility, no one could watch her brother. Azelma certainly wasn’t. Eponine wasn’t exactly sure what Azelma’s deal was, but something was definitely wrong. She’d have to make a plan to get her and Gavroche out of this house, safe, before she started trying to rescue her cellmate. 

“Sorry.” She whispered to the city wall, looming in the distance after she made up her mind, “I’m sorry.” 

… 

She cut off ties with Jehan and Marius. She loved them, but she couldn’t have distractions. She had to be sure that no one was fucking with Gavroche behind her back. If she kept her attachments she’d be too tempted to join them, too tempted to escape. And Montparnasse had told her that he wouldn’t have her back if she kidnapped Gavroche. 

Two years passed. Montparnasse hadn’t given in to her when she was seventeen, like he had for Jehan, thinking he’d learned his lesson. It was much harder to resist Eponine, who knew how to swing her hips just right to get all eyes on her. She knew Montparnasse was a jealous man, he would not be able to stand her having other eyes watching her swinging hips, other people trying to make their moves. 

He took her to his room one night after dancing at a Students concert, and Eponine tasted victory. 

She started bringing Gavroche to the strip club. It was safe for him there, safer than the Thenardier’s place. She couldn’t bring herself to care about Azelma, the kid was tough, she’d pull through. She didn’t have the energy to worry.

When she was nineteen everything started going to hell. She’d heard rumors about the Amis gaining a new member from the facility, though she didn’t dare get her hopes up that it was 82473. It was too unlikely. Besides things were getting weird at home. 

A lot of families couldn’t have kids. The wastelands were full of radiation, everyone (including non-legal citizens) took medication for that. It was sold over-the-counter at Thenardier’s, everyone had a stock. The radiation had left a lot of people barren, though, and they were willing to spend a lot of money for children. 

When she was young, Eponine remembered her mother getting large twice, and two screaming bundles that had been taken away. She’d assumed they died. Azelma told her the truth, though. They were sold. 

“They sold our brothers?” Eponine gasped. “Why?” 

Azelma shrugged. “They expect me to do it. When I’m your age. I… I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“You can’t be serious.” Eponine said, before holding her face in her hands, defeated, “You know what? I believe you. That’s the kind of shitty thing they’d do.” 

“They… they wanted you to do it, but Montparnasse complicates things.” Azelma admitted. Eponine was never quite as grateful to be having sex with that man. “But they found someone… someone who wants Gav.” 

“They want Gavroche?” She asked, “Oh fuck no, that kid is mine. He’s mine!” 

“I know.” Azelma said, putting her hand on her sister’s arm, “You’ve got to take him and run. Take all the money you have. Run.” 

“I will.” Eponine said, “Azelma… thank you.” 

…

They’d been living at the strip club for about a week and a half. Gavroche was insufferable. And impressionable. She did not want him anywhere near Claquesous, for fear of his young mind. There was a commotion outside, and a mechanical voice boomed. 

“ _Patron Minette, hand over the fugitives. They were caught stealing from Tomorrow Comes Industries and must got to reconditioning to sort out their defects._ ” 

Eponine glanced out the window. Jehan and Courfeyrac were outside with that angry blond and a face she thought she’d never see again. Eponine grinned and picked up a microphone, shooing Gavroche into a hiding place. 

“This is Montparnasse.” She said, “These fugitives are helping us with a very important mission.”


	6. Desert Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated T for violence 
> 
> How Cosette and Marius met to become the disgusting couple you see today
> 
> _“Not that I’ll be here just to see you. I… I have stuff to do. I’m not a stalker.”_
> 
> _She laughed. “I’m sure you’re not.”_
> 
> _He took a few steps._
> 
> _“I lied. I will just be here to see you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!

When Marius was a child he lived with his parents. They lived on the border between the North and South Sectors, which allowed him to go to a better school in the north, while his parents were stuck managing factory work. 

Marius adored his parents. They were so nice, so fun. It didn’t matter that it was only ever the three of them, that they never visited relatives like the other kids in his class. He didn’t miss it because they were all he needed. His parents loved him and he loved them back. 

He’d been at school when his parents were taken away. He never knew why, no one ever told him, and he was brought to his grandfather’s house to live. He didn’t even know if they were taken away or if they just left. He wanted to think that they were taken, though. He didn’t want to think that they left him behind with such a strict man. 

Marius had never met his grandfather before. At six years old, the concept seemed foreign. His father had a father? That wasn’t possible, his father was the _only_ father. Besides, if this man was really his father’s father, Marius assumed that the man should at least _like_ his dad. But whenever Marius brought the subject of his parents up to the man, he would be shut down and his questions denied. 

Eventually Marius stopped asking questions. He was in the lower elementary school, and had an opportunity to go to the higher level high school. His grandfather insisted that he work hard to get in, that that be his only focus. Marius, ever eager to please, obeyed and got in. He was a bright kid, and he thought that it would finally make the man proud. It did not. 

Marius’s grandfather seemed to disapprove even more after Marius got into the better school. This confused the hell out of Marius, but he decided not to ask questions. Questions only irritated his grandfather further, and he was not ready to deal with that. 

He made friends in his new school. His grandfather didn’t like him spending time with other kids outside of school, so he couldn’t become close, like others seemed to be, but he had the same classes as a kid named Courfeyrac, who was energetic and fun. They were friends in passing, quizzing each other for tests and discussing only school. It was nice to talk to him though, and Marius thrived on those short bursts of social interaction. 

One day, as Marius walked home from school, he was stopped in the street by a man. The man called him by a name he hadn’t heard before, and when Marius frowned in confusion, the man rephrased his call. 

“Pontmercy.” The man said. Maris frowned further, how did this man know his name?

“Uh, yes?” He asked, wondering what the man wanted from him. He hoped this interaction was short, he was already running late. 

“Wait.” The man said, “Are you that little boy? What was his name… Marcus?” 

“Marius?” Marius asked. The man snapped his fingers and nodded. 

“Marius! That’s it. You look so much like your father.” The man said with a fond look. 

“Do I?” He asked. He didn’t remember his father, so he didn’t know. The man nodded. 

“It’s how I recognized you.” Marius appreciated that the man didn’t make it sound like it was an obvious thing. “It was like I walked into the past.” 

“Huh.” Marius said. He hadn’t thought about his parents for a long time. “Do you… do you know what happened to them?” 

The man shook his head, “No, they were fine, coming to meetings, then one day, poof! Gone.” 

“Meetings?” Marius asked. The man suddenly looked wary. 

“Do you not know what your parents did?” He asked. 

“They were factory managers.” Marius supplied, though he knew the answer was wrong. 

“They were.” The man conceded. “Yes, that’s all they were.” 

“No, what did they do? What did they really do?” Marius asked, afraid he was pleading. These questions that had been burning since childhood reignited, but the man just shook his head. 

“It’s not safe to say.” The man said, as if he realized that he was not, in fact, talking to his friend, to Marius’s father. This kid might be the enemy, he needed to be careful. “You can find out. I believe in you, Marius.” 

Marius was a little taken aback. Who even was this man? Who says stuff like that? While he was stunned by the sheer absurdity of the situation, the man slipped into the crowd of people who were going home from work, leaving Marius alone to hurry home. 

… 

“Grandfather.” Marius said firmly, “What happened to my parents?” 

His grandfather sighed deeply. “I thought you’d given this up.” 

“I…” Marius didn’t really have an answer for his grandfather’s unasked question, ‘why now?’. He couldn’t tell him about the man. He took a deep breath. “I was just thinking about them.” 

His grandfather sighed again. Marius wondered if that was just a necessary step in the man’s breathing at this point. “I won’t tell you.” He said. 

“Why?” Marius asked, frustrated. “They’re my parents, I have a right to know!” 

“You don’t have a _right_ to anything, boy!” His grandfather snapped. Marius drew in a sharp breath. 

He had been thinking lately. He didn’t have to have the full dosage of medicine, he was an elite, like his grandfather. They were expected to function better, and the medication took away some of their brain capacity. With all that capacity to think and reason, Marius had discovered the fundamental wrongs of the system. He’d never heard them admitted so blatantly though.

“Why? Are they dead? Are they in the facility? Are they in the wastelands? Are they brain dead in one of your _factories_?” Marius retorted, raising his voice. He was yelling by the end, but he didn’t care. 

“Watch your tone!” His grandfather yelled back. Daring, Marius thought. Someone might pass the house and heard their voices. Might think something was up. 

“I won’t!”

“I said be quiet!” 

“You did not!” 

“Shut your mouth, boy!” 

“Tell me where my father is!” 

“I will not!” 

“Tell me where my mother is!” 

“She’s dead!” His grandfather roared. After the screaming match, the silence that fell was deafening. Marius swallowed. 

“She’s what?” He asked, his voice half hoarse from yelling. His grandfather tightened his crossed arms defiantly. 

“Dead.” He said, remorseless. “And your fool father will be dead soon as well, no doubt. People like him do not last in the facility.” 

“The facility.” Marius echoed. He had his answers, but the victory felt hollow. His grandfather gave a curt nod. 

“I’ll be seeing the doctors about giving you a higher dosage of medication. Put an end to this nonsense.” He said, before sweeping out of the room. Marius stared at the spot where he had once stood. 

He had to find out more, he realized. He needed more information, he needed to know what his father had done. 

…

True to his word, Marius’s grandfather had upped his dosage of medication. Marius stopped asking him questions, wanting him to think he was taking the pills. In truth, he was taking half pills, trying to get himself off the medication. 

Withdrawal was horrible, even with smaller dosages of the medicine to help wean himself off. He had headaches, mood swings that he needed to restrain, and he was nauseous all the time. He holed himself up in his room so that he wouldn’t explode on someone or barf all over the place. This gave him time for research. 

Even with the highly altered version of the news that was on his computer, he knew that there was something wrong. He’d been accepted into the school’s computer program, and he knew how to get information that people might not actually want him to see. If he fucked up and left a trail, he’d just tell them that he was practicing, that the homework wasn’t enough and he wanted to be the best he could be. To serve his city, of course. 

Try as he might, he couldn’t get into the facility's records. It was like they didn’t exist. How was he supposed to find out about his father if he couldn’t get any information? It’s not like he could just go up to him and ask. 

Marius looked up from his computer screen, which was displaying the same error message it’d had for the past ten minutes. Maybe he could ask his father. 

…

Marius’s grandfather had the annoying habit of accompanying him to the ping pong place where the local youths hung out. Marius didn’t even like ping pong that much, but it was really the only place open for teenagers that wasn’t swamped with little children, so he had little choice. 

On the day he chose as his big day, he’d made sure his grandfather would be there. The man followed him to the place, frowning the whole while. There was a fountain in front. Marius was pleased to see that it was on, spouting water. Everything was going according to plan. 

See, he knew he would never be able to get into the facility with a small display to his grandfather. No, he needed something big. Something witnessed by multiple people, where his grandfather couldn’t just force him home and drug him until he was a vegetable. 

Marius took off his jacket. His grandfather looked shocked when he dropped it on the ground. 

“Marius, pick that up.” The man hissed. 

“No.” 

“Pick it up!” 

“I won’t.” 

“Pick it up this instant, young man!” The man said, his voice louder, drawing the attention of a couple teens. 

Maius took a breath. Now or never. “NO! YOU DON’T CONTROL ME!” 

He shouted this at the top of his lungs. His grandfather took a step away, clutching his heart. Marius was half afraid he’d given him a heart attack. He pressed on, stripping off his shirt and throwing it by his jacket. He’d gotten his pants half off when he saw the Operatives. This was good enough. 

He jumped into the fountain. It was shockingly cold. And deep. He struggled up for air, coming out gasping. A hand reached down and grabbed him, trying to pull him out of the fountain. The air now felt colder than the water and he fought to stay in for comfort more than anything. 

He was eventually forced out of the fountain and restrained. His grandfather tried to bargain with them, but he’d caused too much of a scene. Marius looked out at the crowd as he struggled. He saw a few friends. Courfeyrac was there, his mouth open in awe. Marius was a little proud of that, not much could make Courfeyrac silent. 

He was taken away. His heart was heavy despite this being his goal. He needed answers. 

…

Marius was not considered a threat. Since his grandfather was so elite, the man could visit. He had yet to do so. Marius spent his first three days in solitary confinement, before he was released with the general public. 

He was to be reformed. He might even end up back with his grandfather, he was told. He was really only here while they upped his dosage of medication and made him watch videos about why Tomorrow Comes was a great place. Other than that, he was allowed to talk to the other prisoners. 

It took him three more days to find his father. No one seemed able to talk, especially not the long term wards. He just prayed his father was allowed out for meals, that he wasn’t one of the poor bastards who were forced to sit in cells all day. 

He found him though. The man was sitting there, staring at the bowl of oatmeal that was served for breakfast. 

“Dad?” Marius said quietly, before rushing over, “Dad!” 

His father looked up at him slowly. “Who…?” 

“Dad, it’s me! Marius!” Marius said, trying not to let his face break into a smile. Finally he could get answers. 

“Marius?” His father asked at length. He nodded. 

“Yeah. I’ve got questions, Dad.” He said, eager to ask. His father shook his head. 

“How did you get here?” He asked, furrowing his brow. 

“I jumped in a fountain. I just needed to talk to you! How did you end up here? What happened? Who else did stuff with you guys? How did mom die?” Marius asked, too eager to contain himself. His father frowned. 

There was a long silence. 

“What?” His father asked. “Why did you jump into a fountain?” 

“To come here! I needed to talk to you.” 

His father shook his head. “Your questions… I don’t know if I have answers…” 

“Try.” Maius pleaded. His father sighed. 

“Alright. Your mother and I… we hate this place. We wanted to change it… to have the people change it… we put our faith in a man… and it turned out to be a waste. Most of us were carted off… locked up.” His father spoke with frequent pauses, like he had to think hard for his train of thought to come for him. “We were taken here… locked up… I never got to see her… they only told me when she died…”

“Oh.” Marius said. He didn’t know what he expected, daring heroics, whatever. “I’m sorry.” 

“ _I’m sorry_.” His father said, “We were selfish… left you.” 

There was another pause. 

“What is your plan?” His father asked at length. “After you met me?” 

“I… I was going to go back to my grandfather.” Marius said, frowning. He didn’t really want to. Now that he knew the freedom from the medication, he didn’t want to go back, didn’t want to live like that. 

“You’re too much like us.” His father said, shaking his head, “You need to go to the desert.” 

“The desert?” He asked. He’d only ever heard of that in rumors. It sounded terrifying. His father nodded. 

“The laundry.” His father said, “I know a guy… we were brought here together… there’s no escape for us, we’re old. We’d die off the medication. But you? You should go.” 

Marius nodded. He would go. 

…

The plan was set into action the next day. He actually had no idea how this was going to work, and neither his father nor his father’s friend knew either. He was to hide in a basket, it was going to be taken to the wastelands to get dumped, or so they thought. Then he could just run out. 

In a laundry basket, under people’s gross strains and bodily fluids, Marius contemplated his life. Things probably would have been easier if he hadn’t chosen this route. 

He expected an unbroken journey out into the wastelands. The truck he was in stopped far too soon for him to be in the desert, however. He saw light flood into the dark back of the truck from under the clothes and he heard someone approaching his laundry cart. He swallowed hard, sure they'd found him out. Someone grabbed his cart, wheeling it away. This further confirmed his suspicion. For some reason he had a mental image of being dumped at the feet of his grandfather. He shuddered. 

There were factory noises. Marius was perplexed. What was going on? He felt his cart being passed off to another person, and his heart nearly gave out as it was loaded onto a conveyer belt. A huge, gloves arm reached in, as of looking for something. It found him. 

He poked his head out of the basket. A large tan man looked at him curiously. 

“Who are you?” The man asked, fighting back a smile. Marius heard the unspoken ‘who do you think you are?’

“Laundry.” Marius answered frantically. A hysterical giggle escaped the man’s lips. 

“Laundry.” The man repeated. “I suppose you want to go through the the delicates?”

“Yes!” Marius said, grateful to the amused man, “Yes, I am delicate.”

The man laughed again and punched in a number on the keypad next to him. The laundry cart moved forward and Marius ducked his head down, praying he wasn't about to die in a washing machine. 

… 

The washing room had been terrible. A cramped space where water had soaked up to his waist and the ground moved around, constantly making him fall. He was honestly afraid he was going to drown or get his leg caught in the floor. Eventually it had drained and the laundry (with a sopping wet Marius on top of it) was carted into the drying room. 

Marius knew better than to go there. Luckily, there was no one waiting outside the room. He contemplated his options. He could wander around and likely be found, or he could stay here and likely be found. They were not good options. 

There was a ding and the laundry was done drying. Marius hastily put it into a cart, hiding under the clothes before someone could come in. He had just stopped moving when he heard a voice. 

“Who the hell just leaves the laundry here?” The voice grumbled, before pushing Marius’s cart. They had gotten a good distance away, when the voice hummed. “These clothes don’t look dry…” 

A hand was shoved into Marius’s face before he could get away. It stopped, patting his nose. 

“What the fuck?” The voice whispered, so soft Marius barely heard it over the rustling of the clothes. They were cleared away so he could see a man… no it must have been a teenager, with red hair and freckles staring down at him. 

“Hi?” Marius ventured. The man blinked. 

“Hi.” He said at last. “What-? You know… I don’t actually want to know.” He rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Uh, do you happen to know where this cart is going?” Marius asked. “I thought it was going to the dump.” 

“The dump? You want to go to the wastelands?” The boy asked. “Oh god. I do not have time to deal with this. I’m supposed to get transferred tomorrow.” 

“Sorry.” Marius said. 

“You better be.” The boy said. He sighed. “I can put you on a truck headed for the desert.” 

“Wait, you’d do that? For me?” Marius asked, grinning up at him. The kid gave back a small smile. 

“Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve helped someone out.” He said with a shrug, “Probably won’t be the last. I’ll get someone to move this. You’ll be set out to a store, starts with a T. They won’t care that you’re there, at least I don’t think.”

“Thank you so much!” Marius said fervently. The boy nodded, before glancing nervously over his shoulder. 

“If you get caught, do not tell them I helped you.” The kid said. 

“I don’t even know your name.” Marius pointed out. The ginger nodded. 

“We’ll keep it that way. Good luck kid.” He said, and he covered his face up with the laundry. 

…

True to his word, the kid sent for someone who picked up the cart, grumbling. Marius was loaded on a truck and sent through the unbearable heat to the store that started with a T. He didn’t dare pop his head out of the clothes for fear of there being cameras on the truck bed. It was a long drive. 

… 

Cosette loved her mother. Fantine was the best mother anyone could wish for, no matter what Mr. and Mrs. Thenardier said behind her back when they watched Cosette. Most of what they said was true anyways, or so Eponine told her. Fantine was a “hore”, whatever that meant. That’s why Cosette and Eponine had so many sleepovers. 

Cosette didn’t care. So what if her mom didn’t have a good reputation? What did that get you, anyways? Nothing. A reputation was worth nothing. And when Cosette grew up, she wanted to be just like her mom. She and Eponine would even dress up in the fancy clothes they saw their moms wear sometimes. They were short on the women, but long and drapey on the girls, like gowns. Perfect for pretend. 

It was all good until her mother started coughing. She told Cosette she had dust in her lungs, but Cosette didn’t know what that meant. She just thought her mom breathed too hard in a dust storm. It would get better. 

Her mom stopped going out. She stopped leaving Cosette with the Thenardiers and she didn’t get to be with her playmate. It made Cosette sad, but she couldn’t disobey her mom. Not when she was coughing like this. She needed to help her get better.

“What are you going to do with the child?” One of Fantine’s friends asked one day when they thought Cosette wasn’t listening. “She’s only a baby.”

“She’s six, almost seven.” Her mom countered, “Younger children have made it.” 

“Not without a cost.” The woman argued. Her mother fell silent. “You should consider the options.” 

“She’ll be cared for.” Fantine said with a note of finality. The woman dropped the subject. 

…

Cosette’s mother was having a good day. They were out in the sun, Cosette playing with a ball, when they saw a figure in the distance. Fantine stood shakily from her chair and looked, watching as the shadow turned into a man, headed straight for them. 

“Go inside.” She said, and Cosette obeyed, listening at the door. 

“Who are you?” She heard her mother ask the man. 

His reply was too low for Cosette to hear. Suddenly the door opened and the man came inside, closing it behind himself and searching for a place to hide. 

Cosette followed him as he looked, finally settling to hide under the bed. She looked at him curiously as he wormed his way under the bedframe. Cosette could no longer see him, so she laid down next to the bed and looked at him curiously from the floor. 

“Who are you?” She asked. Instead of a name he rattled off some numbers. Cosette couldn’t catch them, except for the last digit, one. 

“Mr. One.” She said, “Are you okay?” 

He shook his head. 

“Are you playing hide and seek?” 

He paused. “Yes.” 

“Do you need help winning? Is my mom helping you win?” 

The man nodded. Or at least she thought he nodded. It was hard to tell. 

“I’ll help you win too!” She said, and she stood to make the bed. Her mother always left the sheets all messed up, but when the bed was made the blankets covered the sides of the sagging frame so no one could see underneath. 

Cosette congratulated herself as she finished fluffing the last pillow. She was good at hide and seek. 

“Okay Mr. One.” She said, “I’ll leave you be.” 

“Thank you.” He said, and she left the room. 

…

In the end, the Operative (a strange one, he wore no mask) who came looking for the man under the bed did not look in their house. He thanked Fantine for her help (she’d given him directions to the Thenardiers’) and left. 

Cosette told the man that he could get out from under the bed. He did so reluctantly. 

Over dinner Fantine asked the man his name, and several other questions of family and law. He could answer none, except the name. 

“I read a file, it said my name was Jean Valjean.” He said, “But I have no memory of being that man.”

“Did the file say a crime? A family?” Fantine asked. 

“I don’t know.” The man said, “I only got to read the name.” 

Fantine nodded and dinner passed silently. 

…

Jean Valjean melded into their lives easily. As Fantine got worse, the man got better. He still remembered nothing, he knew nothing, but he was helpful and strong. He earned his keep doing odd jobs and Fantine seemed to like him. Cosette was very fond of him, he wouldn’t talk much, but he would play with her in the yard and indulge her games of pretend. 

One night, she overheard a conversation between the man and her mother. Fantine had been having a coughing fit loud enough to wake them both and Valjean had gotten to her with water before Cosette. 

“Fantine.” The man said, “Are you dying?” 

“Yes.” Cosette heard her mother say. Water slopped out of her cup (the one she wanted to bring in) as Cosette clutched it to her chest in surprise. She covered her mouth so she wouldn’t gasp. 

“How long?” The man asked. Her mother coughed some more in reply. “Fantine…” 

“I don’t know. This illness is strange. If I don’t strain myself I have a few months maybe. I want to see Cosette through her birthday.” Her mother said. 

“What is going to happen to Cosette?” Valjean asked. 

“You will care for her.” Fantine said after a moment of silence. “You owe me. And you like her. It’s more than I can say for most of my friends.” 

“What about her father?” Valjean shot back. 

“You’re more a father to her than the man who got me pregnant. He’s back in the city, an elite. He’s a liar and a cheat and I don’t ever want Cosette to know him.” Fantine said, working herself up into another fit of coughing. Cosette risked a look and saw Valjean rubbing her mother’s back. Fantine looked frail in the dim light. It scared her. 

“Do you want me to be her father?” Valjean asked, after a long silence. Fantine nodded and Cosette ducked her head back around the corner, afraid of being seen. 

“Then that’s what I will be.” He said firmly. Cosette rushed back to her room as quietly as she could.

She sat on her bed, thinking about the exchange. Her mother was dying, her father was evil, and she was supposed to accept Valjean as her dad? No way, that wasn’t happening! This was all too sudden! Tears escaped her eyes. She wasn’t ready for her mom to go, she couldn’t leave! 

Cosette choked on a sob, determined not to let the adults hear her. She was about to be seven, practically an adult in her mind. She had to be better than this. After a few shuddery breaths she calmed, hugging her pillow. 

If her mom wanted her to accept Valjean as a dad, she would. Maybe then her mom would be better, maybe if they had a whole family. Then they could be happy and her mom would decide that dying was a bad idea and she’d stay. Yeah, that was it. 

…

Cosette launched right into it the next day. She called Valjean ‘Papa’. She’d actually rehearsed a whole host of father-names, but that was the only affectionate one that seemed to fit the man. 

He was shocked to say the least. 

“What did you call me?” He asked. Fantine wasn’t there to witness this. Cosette figured that she needed to convince Valjean that she thought he was her father first, then she could work on convincing her mother. Her mom saw right through her whenever she played pretend. 

“Papa.” Cosette said, “Aren’t you my father? Mama said he is from the city, and you are also from the city. And you’re so nice.”

He seemed to contemplate this. “Do you want me to be your Papa?” He asked. She smiled at the use of the nickname. She was right, it sounded correct. 

“Yes.” She said. He nodded. 

“Then I will be.” 

…

Her mother didn’t take as much convincing as she thought. Cosette was afraid that it was because her mom was getting weaker, less sharp about these things, but later she’d realize that it was because there was an element of truth to her deception. She really did adore Valjean, and she did wish he was her father. 

Cosette was scared to go back to school. Her birthday was in October and as far as she was concerned, that was Fantine’s expiration date. But she needed to get an education, Fantine insisted. She needed to be able to teach Valjean all he’d missed. 

That was a running joke with some hard truth. Valjean really remembered nothing, so Cosette’s little history lessons that she told the man fascinated him. Fantine would joke that he was probably a scholar. With the extra money he earned during the day, he’d buy books and soon Fantine’s shelves were being filled with everything from old romance novels to science textbooks, and Valjean read them all. Fantine would joke that he needed to fill up his empty head with something. Cosette later thought that there was more truth to that than they knew. 

…

Cosette’s birthday came and went. She was seven years old and every day she was filled with fear and hope. Maybe since her mom lasted this long, she’d be fine. She could live the rest of her life in the bed. That wasn’t a problem. Cosette would accept that. 

Her breathing was shallow and labored. She couldn’t talk without pain. Valjean would read to her, since she could do nothing all day anymore, just sit with her thoughts. Cosette would tell her about her day in excruciating detail so that she wouldn’t have to ask questions. It was like talking to a doll that looked like her mother. It was scary. 

One day Valjean told her that she didn’t have to go to school. They sat by her mother’s bedside all day, and Fantine even talked. It was good, Cosette was happy. She ignored the strange circumstances and focused on the happiness, aggressively enjoying it. Maybe this meant her mother would get better. 

“Cosette, my little baby lark.” Her mother said, drawing her close at the end of the day, “I love you. I love you.” 

“I love you, Mama.” Cosette said, ignoring the sad note in Fantine’s voice and squeezing her in a tight hug. Her mother kissed her forehead. 

“Off to bed.” Fantine said. Cosette was unsure if the roughness in her voice was contained tears or just the sickness. Cosette hugged her again, just to be sure, and went off. 

She would find out later that Fantine had chosen that day to die. She didn’t want to lose control of herself in front of her daughter, as she knew the illness did. She’d told Valjean to buy poison from the Thenardiers’, and after Cosette had gone to her room she took it, after making Valjean swear on his life that he’d take care of Cosette. 

Valjean swore. Fantine died. 

Cosette knew later that death was messy. Valjean cleaned up Fantine’s body so that Cosette did not see. He changed the sheets, sponged off the woman, and changed her clothes, all before morning. He put her back on the bed, arranging her so it looked like she was asleep. 

In the morning, a Saturday, he awoke Cosette late. He wanted her to rest before she knew. At the time it seemed cruel to Cosette, but later she understood. 

She ran to her mother and begged her to come back. When she didn’t, Cosette screamed, throwing a fit like she hadn’t done since she was a baby. Valjean let her. 

“Cosette…” He said at length, after allowing her to sob on her bed for a while, “Cosette I need your help to call her friends.” 

“Papa…” She said. She wanted to curse him, to tell him she knew he wasn’t her father and he never would be. But she couldn’t. She knew no curses and he was all she had left. “Okay.” 

…

There was a fair amount of people at Fantine’s funeral at twilight that night. Mostly prostitutes, you made friends easily on the streets. Eponine and her parents showed up for some reason, and Cosette yearned to talk to her, but she couldn’t, it was against the rules. Besides, they’d see each other in the school. 

That was the last time she saw Eponine for years. 

…

Things were sad. Eponine wasn’t in school, and Cosette didn’t want to make new friends, she didn’t want to talk. 

She wasn’t sure how, but Valjean met a man named Fauchelevent. Fauchelevent became their roommate, he said he was from the facility as well, but after his time there was up he was allowed to move to the wastelands. He was a legal citizen, and so they pretended that he was Cosette’s real father, changed her last name and everything. This was how they avoided having her taken away from the city, how she got to keep going to school. 

Fauchelevent was a kind man and Cosette liked him a lot. He made her childhood interesting, telling her stories from the city. Apparently his crime hadn’t been as terrible as whatever Valjean had done, as his mind hadn’t been wiped. 

A man named Javert made their live difficult as time went on. Valjean had to leave for months at a time, leaving Cosette in Fauchelevent’s care. Not that Cosette minded the man, but she missed her Papa. It made school difficult. 

At ten Cosette dropped out of school and Valjean began to teach her. In the three years he’d spent in the wastelands he’d learned a great deal and they had plenty of books. Fauchelevent taught her local lore and history, along with the city history. Valjean wrote down what the man said, and together they gave her the best education they could. 

…

Fauchelevent died when Cosette was thirteen. It was sad, and there was no one to bury him but the two of them, a sharp contrast to Fantine’s funeral. He left everything to them, which turned out to be a great deal of money. Cosette, his “daughter”, claimed it all from the bank and then immediately dropped her legal citizen status. She couldn’t have Operatives hunting her down and taking her to an orphanage. 

Fauchelevent died during one of the bursts of Javert activity. Valjean had to leave Cosette for a while, afraid the man would take her too if he found them both. Cosette assured him that she was fine, she would just find some odd jobs to take her mind off of everything. 

She found a job with the new Patron Minette. They needed someone to mind the books, it seemed that no one really taught anyone but Montparnasse how to read and do math. For two months she tutored them and helped Montparnasse, who was struggling in light of his mentor’s death, to keep themselves afloat. In return they paid her and let her sleep there, as well as teaching her how to shoot. 

Montparnasse seemed to appreciate Valjean, who picked up Cosette after her last day with them, and how his respect seemed genuine. No one had treated him that well before, like he was a person to be reckoned with. He promised the two of them that he’d look out for them if they were ever in need. 

… 

Cosette and Valjean continued to take jobs, though money was no longer an issue. They helped needy people, feeding some of the destitute in the streets. Poverty was a huge issue in the wastelands, and though shelter was often easy to find, food and water were not. 

This was how Marius and Cosette met the first time. Marius was sixteen, fresh out of the city, with nowhere to live and no food or water. He was dehydrated and he felt like he was dying. Two days and he was already dying out here, he was never going to survive. 

He cursed himself as he sat in the shade of an alley, trying to think of how to find water, when what looked like an angel approached him. She held out a crinkled plastic bottle full of water. He took it and drank greedily. 

“Are you okay?” The angel asked. He nodded, but frowned. 

“How… how do I get water?” He asked. 

“Oh, you probably don’t have running water, huh? Well, you have to get a job and pay for it! Go to Thenardiers’, they probably know someone looking to hire. And there’s always the Patron Minette.” She said. “Are you from the city?” 

“Yeah.” He answered. She gave him a little package and seemed like she wanted to say more, but there was someone calling for her. 

“See you!” She said, and she ran off. Marius looked at the package. It was food. He could have cried for joy. 

He got up. Time to walk all the way back to Thenardiers’, the man who gave him a strange look for popping out of a basket of clothes he didn’t ask for. 

…

Marius survived for a while. Found himself some rubble that roughly formed shelter and took refuge there, looking for the angel who saved him in town whenever he wasn’t working. He had no luck. And he needed to find a place with running water soon, it had been a year and the dry showers were tinting his skin blue. 

He’d lived with a girl named Musichetta and her mother, and though he liked them he didn’t want to be a burden. He never told them he was from the facility, thought he was sure they wouldn’t mind. He didn’t want to put them in danger, and when he earned enough that he was sure he’d be fine on his own he left. But that was months ago.

He was on his way to Thenardier’s for some food, right out of his job of the day, when he was cornered in an alley. He gave over his money without a fight, he knew that these guys could kick his ass, but they insisted on beating him up anyways. They seemed to think he had more money to give, even though he swore he didn’t. 

“Hey!” Someone yelled. It was a high voice, probably a girl. 

“Aren’t you the Thenardier kid?” One of the men asked, while his friend gave the curled up ball that was Marius another kick.

“Yeah.” She answered. Great, now the Thenardiers would know he had no money and he couldn’t bluff any food out of them. He didn’t know they had a daughter. The kicking stopped.

“Tell your dad I need an extension on my payment this month.” One man said.

“You should probably try mugging someone who looks like he actually has money then.” The girl called. The man was probably leaving. Marius knew better than to chance a look.

“You alright?” The girl asked. Marius looked up to see her offering her hand. He had hoped that she would be the angel he’d seen a year ago, but she wasn’t. He didn’t let his disappointment show, however. This girl did just save him.

“Yeah.” He replied, taking her hand. “Thanks.” He stood. 

“Don’t mention it.” She said. There was a beat of silence. Man, that girl was short. “So what’s your name?” 

“Marius Pontmercy.” He said, sticking out his hand. He realized as she took it that people in the desert don’t do this. She didn’t call him out and he was grateful. 

“Eponine.” She said. “So where are you headed, Marius?” 

“I was headed to the store to grab some food.” He said wistfully, looking in the direction of the Thenardier store. There was no way he was going to eat tonight. “But they took my money, so…” 

“Come on, I’ll get you something.” Eponine said. Marius looked at her in shock, but she had already turned to lead him to the store, so she didn’t see. He’d never known a Thenardier to be generous. 

…

At the store they ran into someone named Montparnasse, who complained loudly to Eponine that no one knew math. Marius perked up, he knew math. 

“I know math.” He said. The man turned to look at him. 

“Do you?” He asked, his voice a little on the scathing side. 

“I was the top of my class in the city.” In the city it was impolite to boast, but out here it was just like stating facts. No room for modesty. 

“The city?” Montparnasse asked. He sounded a little impressed. From what Marius had gathered, the city had a high standard for education, much higher than the wastelands. Marius nodded. 

“Well… I’ll have to test you. And you’ll have to take a shower, you look like a smurf.” He said, turning. Marius looked at Eponine. 

“Follow him.” She hissed, and Marius obeyed. 

…

He passed Montparnasse’s math test. He also fixed his computer and got his first shower since living with Musichetta and her mother. It was a great day, and Marius was about to go home, when Montparnasse stopped him. 

“Woah, no! You have to live here! Everyone in the Patron Minette lives here!” He protested. A man (at least Marius thought he was a man) with long red hair was watching from the doorway with crossed arms. Marius had yet to be introduced. 

“Alright. Can I get my stuff tomorrow?” Marius asked. Montparnasse consented and showed Marius to his room. 

Over dinner he met everyone. Eponine was there (though Montparnasse made it very clear that she was not part of the Patron Minette), and there were three older teens, Claquesous, Gueulemer, and Babet, and Jehan, who didn’t seem to have a reason for being there? But who was Marius to judge. 

Montparnasse was being weirdly nice. Maybe he was like this with everyone? Marius sighed at the ceiling of his new room as he contemplated. This was weird.

…

Montparnasse’s strange treatment of Marius continued, but he tried to ignore it (and Jehan’s glares) as he worked. The computer the Patron Minette had was painfully out of date, but he got some new software and hardware from (where else?) the Thenardiers’. He had to put in a special request and beg Eponine to keep the price reasonable. But eventually it was his. 

He worked on the computer in his spare time. When he was working he was just keeping books on whatever the Patron Minette sold. They listed it as shoes. Marius was oblivious, but he knew it wasn’t that. He tried not to look too hard into it, didn’t want his morals getting in the way of the best setup he’d had in a year. 

He came into his room one day, to find Jehan on his bed.

“So, uh… not to be rude or anything, but why are you in my room?” Marius asked. Jehan kind of scared him. He seemed so confident and cool, despite being younger. And also he was always glaring for some reason. It was unnerving.

Jehan played with the pages of Marius’s work notebook, before half-glaring at Marius. Marius breathed sharply, half afraid that the kid was going to rip them out. 

“I just wanted to warn you.” Jehan said, putting down the notebook. “To stay away from Montparnasse.”

Marius was confused. And afraid. He’d just discovered what a “shoe shine” meant in Montparnasse’s books, and it was not pretty. “Wait, why? Is he mad? Does he have a hit on me?” 

“Yes.” Jehan said, with a weird tone and facial expression, and he left the room. 

“Why?” Marius asked the air. It gave no response. 

… 

Marius did avoid Montparnasse. It wasn’t hard, all he had to do was start nervously going over complex figures and the man would excuse himself. This meant he had more time to read and more time with Eponine. 

“I don’t think Jehan likes me.” Marius confessed one day. Eponine’s face contorted.

“Oh?” She asked, with an odd tone. Marius ignored it and pressed on. 

“Yeah, he just seems… mad at me all the time. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did, but I can’t think of anything.” 

“Hmm…” She seemed to think, “Well, I don’t think he hates you.” 

“Really?” Marius asked, hopeful. He really didn’t want to be the cause of any problems. 

“Nooo.” She drew out the no, and he hung onto her words, “He just doesn’t really trust people, you know? Give him time.” 

“Alright.” Marius said, relieved. 

…

Jehan’s birthday came, and with it was a new level of awkwardness. Dinner was unbearable, and even someone as awkward as Marius knew that Jehan was trying to get with Montparnasse. He gave Jehan his present (the kid hated him, but it was his birthday, he couldn’t _not_ get him something), a notebook, and retreated to his room as soon as he could. 

The noises from Montparnasse’s room were so loud, Marius couldn’t shut them out. He slammed the pillow over his head, hoping he might suffocate. 

The next morning, or afternoon, he ran into the ginger in the halls. 

“Hey sweetie!” Jehan said, giving a cheerful wave. He wasn’t glaring, that was new. 

“Uh, hi Jehan!” Marius said, awkwardly waving. He had no idea what was going on.

“Oh, by the way. Montparnasse doesn’t have a hit out on you, you can totally talk to him.” Jehan said, smiling. 

“Oh thank god, that’s a relief.” Marius said, before frowning. “Wait, why did he have a hit out on me in the first place?” 

“He didn’t.” Jehan answered, “He just wanted to get in your pants.” 

“Oh.” Marius said, taken aback. He hadn’t considered that, but he guessed it made sense. He was still getting used to all the homosexuality out in the desert. Not that he minded it, it just seemed strange. “Wow, that’s new. I’m not into guys though, so I guess it was a lost cause.” 

“Yeah.” Jehan agreed, still smiling. “Oh, and Marius?” 

“Yeah?” He asked, tentative. 

“If you ever sleep with him I just want you to know that I’ll rip your balls off and feed them to you.” Jehan said, still just as cheerful. 

“Uh…” Marius took a step back, afraid. “No need to worry?” 

“Good!” Jehan grinned, “I like you Marius. We should be friends.” 

“Sure.” Marius said, head reeling from the conversation, “That sounds great.” 

…

He didn’t expect Jehan to be serious, but they did become good friends. For a while it was just the three of them, Marius, Eponine, and Jehan. Everything was fun. Life was great. 

But one day, Marius found his angel. 

He was eighteen and he was out walking to Thenardiers’ to talk to Eponine and to get some parts he ordered, when he saw her. 

She looked radiant in the sun, in a yellow dress that matched her hair. 

“Hey!” He called, trying to get her attention, but she was far away and he didn’t know her name. “Hey!” 

Finally she looked over as he ran, before he stopped in front of her out of breath.

“Do I know you?” She asked. He nodded. 

“You saved my life when I got here. I wanted to thank you.” He explained. Her cheeks turned red and she smiled. 

“It’s not a problem.” She said modestly. He was grateful to hear that, if he said something like that to Montparnasse or Jehan or Eponine they’d act like he owed them a debt. But this girl had the manners of a city girl. Maybe she was from the city. 

“I’m Marius Pontmercy.” He said, holding out his hand like he had to Eponine a year ago. She shook it. 

“I’m Cosette Fauchelevent.” She replied. “Do you want to help me?” 

Marius glanced at the sky. He needed to go to the Thenardiers’ if he wanted to be back home by sundown. He shook his head regretfully. 

“I can’t.” He said, “But can I talk to you again?” 

She giggled, “You can. I’m here every day.” 

“Okay.” He said.

“Okay.” 

“I’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here.” 

“Not that I’ll be here just to see you. I… I have stuff to do. I’m not a stalker.” 

She laughed. “I’m sure you’re not.” 

He took a few steps. 

“I lied. I will just be here to see you.” 

She laughed again. He wanted her to make that sound forever. “Okay.” She said, “I’ll still be here.” 

He smiled to himself and walked to Eponine’s. He needed to talk to her. 

… 

Eponine laughed him out of the store after he recounted the events, and he supposed he had been quite awkward, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted to see Cosette again. 

…

They began to meet outside Thenardiers’ as much as they could. He learned a lot about Cosette, about how her mother and “father” died, and how she just had an escapee from the facility to take care of her. 

Marius knew he shouldn’t be judgemental. After all, he was an escapee too. But years in the city made him scared of the man, of anyone who would just break out like that. 

He learned that she was strong, strangely so. Valjean had taught her how to be strong. She could lift Marius up with no problem. He learned that she stole almost as much as Eponine, but only from people with terrible prices (like the Thenardiers’). 

She was the only person he’d met who was as well read as he was. She could stop his rants about books with ones of her own, and he loved her for it, she halted his obsessions by obsessing with him. She listened to him, more than Eponine and Jehan. And she asked when she didn’t understand instead of zoning out. 

He couldn’t stop talking about her. Jehan and Eponine hated it, but he didn’t care. He could talk about her for days. 

…

When he met Valjean, he told the man straight away that he was also an escapee from the facility. He thought it might put them on some kind of equal footing, so the man would be scared too, but he just looked vaguely impressed and clapped Marius on the back. 

“Well done.” He said, “It’s good to be out, huh?” 

Marius agreed. For all he missed the city, it was good to be out. 

He became good friends with Valjean. The man had books and books that Marius hadn’t read yet, ones (outdated ones) about technology that he never knew. He loved Valjean’s bunker. 

And the bunker had Cosette, who disapproved of him working with the Patron Minette. She was scared for his safety. It had changed a lot since she helped tutor them, they had made a name for themselves and Cosette didn’t like it. 

Marius wanted to appease her. He honestly didn’t love working there, he wanted to work for something to believe in instead of lying to Cosette about selling “shoes” that he knew were drugs. He didn’t understand them at all. Jehan was a former prostitute, Montparnasse was mad about it, and yet, when Marius logged accounts for “garter belts” he knew that he was logging how much Montparnasse earned from the whores who worked for him all over the city. It was a place of contradictions. 

He didn’t want to leave Eponine, but he knew that he couldn’t force her to leave any more than he could force Jehan. She had to want out and he couldn’t wait for her. He wanted out now. And his contract was up anyways. 

Montparnasse was sad to see him go, but he was glad that Marius was going to live with Cosette. Their relationship was moving at a glacial pace, they were just kissing and holding hands. It was too cute for Montparnasse to look at for too long. He let him go, with a bonus for his good work. 

“And if you ever want to leave that pretty blonde, you know where to find me.” Montparnasse said with a wink. Marius was eighty percent sure he was joking. 

… 

Before Marius went to live with Cosette and Valjean he got reunited with Courfeyrac because of Jehan. He never thought that any of his friends from school would leave like he did (and really, they didn’t leave the same way) but he was grateful to see familiar faces. 

Courfeyrac caught him up on what had happened since he was gone and introduced him to most of the Amis. Their group was steadily growing and the hotel was great. He and Cosette visited a lot, especially when Jehan and Courfeyrac went. Eponine tended to avoid it though. 

Marius missed Eponine, especially after he moved in with Cosette and Valjean. It was for the best though, he’d promised the man that he wouldn’t tell anyone their location and he was going to be true to his word. 

…

When Marius visited the Amis with Courfeyrac, he met Bahorel and Feuilly. He was alone that time, and Courfeyrac had abandoned him to talk to some girl with Jehan. But he knew them, they were so familiar. 

“Hey!” The big man yelled, pointing him out. “Aren’t you the kid from the laundry?” 

“And a fountain.” Marius added. The man laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“I’m Bahorel!” He said, “This is my hot supervisor.” 

“Feuilly.” The ginger said, “He’s an asshole.” 

“Oh?” Marius said, not sure how to comment. 

“Have a drink with us!” Bahorel offered, “And tell us why you were in the fucking laundry of all places.” 

Feuilly handed him a red cup. Marius took a huge sip of the liquid. It was disgusting, but he’d had worse. He swallowed. 

“So it all began with my grandfather…” 

It turned out that Bahorel and Feuilly were awesome. They even helped him through his first hangover the next morning. Man, he was so glad they ended up out here too. 

...

Cosette loved Marius. She really did. She loved his dorky laugh and they way he’d go on and on about things. It helped to combat her silence. Because sometimes when she thought about Fantine and Fauchelevent and how she was taken away from Eponine as a child she got sad. Not that it was Valjean’s fault, he tried the best he could. 

But she was lonely, and Marius helped fill up the loneliness because there was just so much of him, it seemed. He had so many thoughts and they’d race around and repeat and she loved to listen to them, and he was happy to tell her. 

Valjean didn’t always seem to understand, but he accepted it. And he did little more than sigh disapprovingly when he found them kissing. But she could tell he was unhappy with the arrangement. So she made a plan. 

“Marius, sweetie. Don’t you think you should move out?” She asked as he was petting her hair one day. She loved when people did that, it calmed her. 

“Why?” He asked, his hand stilling. She looked up at him. 

“Well, I want you to be with the Amis. They’re really making a difference and… you know I can’t join.” She said, pouting. 

It was true. Aside from how she didn’t want to leave her Papa all alone, she was a little afraid of so many people. She’d never been good with large crowds. Sure she was lonely, but she didn’t think anyone could ever get lonely enough to need seventy five people. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, “You’ll miss me.” 

She nodded. What he said was true, she’d miss him, but she needed him to give her and Valjean a little space, so Valjean could get used to the idea that she was growing up. She was still a teenager, and despite how Marius ran off and Montparnasse created an almost cult-like gang and Jehan went out and sold himself… Cosette wanted to be with her Papa for just a little while longer. Besides, he needed her. She was the only one who knew how to exist with him. 

“I’m sure.” She said. 

And so, with very little further convincing from Combeferre, Marius joined the Amis. 

…

Musichetta joined the Amis a month or so after Marius and he was glad to see her. She almost punched him for disappearing off the face of the earth, but she forgave him soon after. She had two new boyfriends, Joly and Bossuet. Marius was glad he spent so much time with Montparnasse, it didn’t phase him one bit. 

“But how can they share?” He asked Cosette, “I just don’t understand!” 

Okay, maybe it phased him a little. 

“I don’t know.” Cosette admitted. “We could try with someone if you want.” 

“What?” Marius asked, blushing, “No! No, I don’t think I can share you just yet.” 

“Alright.” She hummed, “But I’ve got some ideas if we decide to do that.” 

“I bet.” Marius sighed. 

He loved visiting her now. It was like something special. And he was introducing her to the Amis, slowly so that he didn’t frighten either of them. It was a process. 

Slowly, she fell asleep. He had been talking about something, but he was sure it was the third time he’d told her, he did that a lot. He just looked at her, in his arms. She looked so peaceful, so happy. 

“I love you.” He whispered, kissing her hair. She shifted a little in her sleep. Marius needed to get back. He tried to move a little, but she tightened her hold. He supposed he could wait until morning. He did tell Enjolras where he’d be. 

…

The next morning Cosette drove Marius back to the hotel on her motorcycle. He kind of hated the thing, he’d rather be in a car. Not one driven by Courfeyrac though, the man was a “good” driver, but riding in a car with him was _terrifying_. 

As they got close to the hotel, they noticed something. It wasn’t as tall on the horizon. They couldn’t speak, the wind was too loud. They came to the remains of Marius’s home silently. There were cries like a battlefield. 

Marius stumbled off first. “Jehan!” He called. The man was supposed to move in, oh god, what if he’d been hurt. “Jehan!” 

“I’m here!” The ginger called. Marius ran to him and grabbed him tight in his arms. 

“Oh thank god.” He whispered. Jehan clutched him back. Marius looked up, Courfeyrac was watching. “Courf!” He cried, opening his arms and making grabby hands at the teen. He walked over, joining the group hug. 

“What happened?” Cosette asked. 

“Cosette!” Enjolras said, appearing from nowhere. His voice sounded a little coarse, like he’d been coughing or screaming. “Cosette, can you do me a favor?” 

“Sure.” She said, “What happened?” 

“We-” Enjolras interrupted himself with a fit of coughing. 

“We were bombed.” Courfeyrac supplied. Enjolras nodded. 

“We were bombed?” Marius asked, “Where is everyone?” 

“I need you to go to your dad.” Enjolras said as his coughing subsided. “We need… supplies, help, I don’t know. I just…” He looked frustrated. 

“I’ll go tell him.” She said, “I promise we’ll help you.” 

She got on her bike and sped off as Jehan tried to explain the situation to Marius. After he heard about the dead, Marius went on a mission to find Musichetta and Bahorel and Feuilly. The three of them had helped him so much… he needed them to be alright. 

After he found them and made sure they were alright, Marius headed back to Enjolras. The teen intimidated him, but he was more shell shocked than anything, and was now way less scary. 

“How can I help?” Marius asked. Enjolras looked at him and handed over what looked to be a makeshift shovel. 

“Dig.” Enjolras said. So Marius dug. 

…

They didn’t find anyone, but Marius did find a lot of supplies. The funeral at twilight was huge, bigger than any he’d ever seen. It was terrifying. 

He didn’t get to see Cosette much that week, or the week after. They were both so busy, and then the Amis were moving and everything was weird and Marius was pretty sure that Eponine stopped by, but he wasn’t around. He missed her, and he missed Cosette. Honestly, he kind of wanted to go back to the city. 

But then he remembered, if he went back, if any of them went back, it’d be straight to the facility. And he’d heard Cosette’s stories about Valjean, about how fucked up everything was. Hell, he lived it, if only for a small period of time. There was no way he could go back to that. There was no way he could leave Cosette. Or his friends. 

No, he had to be strong in this. He had to throw himself in his work, forget his friends. Had to focus. 

A few weeks later, Cosette and Jehan took him to the side, told him what he was doing wasn't healthy. They even brought in Combeferre to back them up, and Combeferre had medical facts. He couldn’t waste away, not eating, not sleeping, only working. 

“I just want to help.” He told his friends, who seemed to be spinning around the room. Maybe sleep wasn’t out of the question. 

…

Jehan hadn’t bothered Marius with the fact that Eponine was missing, in the weird state he was in, Marius couldn’t exactly rightfully blame the ginger. But he did blame him anyways. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” He yelled, “She’s my friend too!” 

“Well she was my friend first!” Jehan yelled back. 

“Fuck you!” Marius yelled. Jehan gasped. Marius never yelled like that. Marius was so shocked he calmed down. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Jehan said, before sighing. “I should have told you.” 

“She came around yesterday.” Marius admitted, “She asked me to do a bunch of math.” 

“Why?” Jehan asked. Marius shrugged. He had no idea. 

…

Marius was with Cosette when Jehan had been sick. The ginger had been avoiding him, as well as every other one of his friends. Now Marius assumed he knew why. 

He heard from Enjolras that everyone was kind of hard on the kid already, couldn’t someone just give him a break? Marius nodded. If Enjolras was telling him to be calm, he needed to be calm. 

“Hey.” Marius said, opening the door. 

“Hey.” Jehan said from the bed. “Courf just left.” 

“Are things okay?” Marius asked, sitting next to him. Jehan shook his head. 

“No… Montparnasse… he said some things that can’t be taken back and… I fucked up, Marius.” Jehan sniffled, “But it’ll be alright.” 

“If you need someone to run away with you, I’ll find Eponine- wherever she is- and we’ll go with you. Just the three of us. Just like old times.” Marius offered. Jehan sniffed again, but smiled. 

“Like old times.” He sighed, “You can’t do that. You’ve got Cosette. And Eponine’s got… something. We’ve got things now. It’ll never be the same.” 

“No.” Marius agreed. “But different can be good.” 

“Yeah.” Jehan agreed. “It can be.” 

…

“You know, you should join up.” Marius said to Cosette a year later. They were sitting on the hood of a car, watching Courfeyrac swear cheerfully at his Baby while he fixed something. Cosette was pretty sure most of the words he was saying were made up. “You’re an adult now.” 

“Psh.” She scoffed, “This soon after the bombing? You’re lucky Papa even lets me visit.” 

“Aww, but it gets weird here without you! I walked in on Combeferre and Enjolras doing unspeakable things.” Marius whined. He expected Courfeyrac to comment, but the man was too busy getting his fingers caught in something. For a renowned mechanic he seemed awfully bad at this. 

“You’ll just have to wait. It’s not like I’m not over here all the time.” Cosette reasoned as Jehan came in. He kissed Courfeyrac’s fingers to make them better. When he started sucking on them Marius decided that it was time to leave. 

“Hey, you wanna get out of here? I found a place where the sunset is perfect and we can try to bother Eponine at the Thenardiers’.” He said, getting off the car and offering his hand to Cosette. She took it. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this is the last chapter of this fic, but we've got a whole new series of one shots that we've already written and we're working on the final fic as we speak. 
> 
> If there's any delay in this, it's probably because of finals. However, school ends the second week of May for us, so we'll have tons of free time to waste our lives writing fanfiction for our obscure AU that no one reads! Yay! 
> 
> -FredAndGinger

**Author's Note:**

>  **Art**  
> [You Don't Control Me!](http://spinalbaby.tumblr.com/post/145485182199/ah-teenagers-was-a-delight-to-write-so-here) by SpinalBaby  
> 


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